


For Love Is Strong As Death

by San Antonio Rose (ramblin_rosie)



Series: Tok'ra Apocalypse [3]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1, Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Episode: s05e22 Swan Song, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:20:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 29,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ramblin_rosie/pseuds/San%20Antonio%20Rose
Summary: Whatever happens in Detroit, it’s the end of the world as Sam and Dean know it; the Tok’ra just have to keep their hosts alive long enough to see a new dawn.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Tok'ra Apocalypse [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027690
Kudos: 4





	1. Jolinar's Memories Revisited

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: This story is AU for both Supernatural and Stargate SG-1/Stargate Atlantis. Spoilers for SPN “Swan Song” and all previous episodes of Season 5. Chapter 1 contains references to events of SG-1 “Jolinar’s Memories/The Devil You Know” and “New Order” and SPN “All Hell Breaks Loose” and “No Rest for the Wicked” and to events that occurred between SPN Seasons 3 and 4; I’ve tried to be as non-graphic as possible.
> 
> Setting: May-November 2010—this ’verse’s version of Supernatural “Swan Song” and events following; post-Stargate: Extinction and late Season 2-ish for Stargate Universe
> 
> A/N: This AU runs so closely parallel to the events of “Swan Song” that I’ll show only Homeworld Command’s perspective for people who haven’t seen the episode. There’s a good bit that comes after that, though; some of it will run parallel to common threads I’ve seen in other 5.22 codas (because they’re logical character-based conclusions), but other elements will necessarily be very different. I’m also ignoring SPN Season 6 and SGU Season 2—to quote Ziva David, “I like it my way better.”
> 
> Major thanks to my fabulous beta Ansostuff!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously, on Tok’ra Apocalypse:
> 
> Dean shook his head. “Oh, no. No way. You can’t do this, Sammy. Dishon?”
> 
> Dishon took over and grimaced. “This sounds like a... what is it called... a ‘Hail Mary’?”
> 
> Sam snorted, and he and Gabriel smiled wryly at each other as he recited, “Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.”
> 
> “Rather like the Dakara weapon, I think it should be our last option. It _might_ work—hush, Dean—but it is an extremely long shot, and there may yet be another option that would work better and would not cost Sam his life should he succeed.”
> 
> [. . .]
> 
> Sam fiddled with a bite of eggplant that was left on his plate. “I’m not gonna do it unless we all agree. But it... might not cost me my life.”
> 
> Dean took back control. “Wait, I thought you said you were gonna jump in the hole.”
> 
> “I did.”
> 
> “How is that _not_ gonna cost you your life?!”
> 
> Sam met his eyes then. “I’ve been talking it over with Salim. We’ve got a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has more than likely been influenced by some of the great meta I’ve read over the past few months. I know I had bistokids’ essay on “What am I supposed to do?” running through the back of my mind (though I had to look it up again to attribute it!), and there were probably other essays from spn_heavymeta that worked their way in. So if you recognize a thought that’s been floated in meta, consider it an unconscious hat tip. Also, I’ve been deliberately vague in some of my descriptions in this chapter—I am neither Dante nor Milton, and there are certain places my brain simply will not go. If you know the canon(s), you can fill in the blanks yourself; and if you don’t... don’t try too hard. As a further disclaimer, I’m not Catholic myself, but I find that this is one universe where the medieval Catholic understanding of life, the universe, and everything is useful from a storytelling perspective.

Sam Winchester sighed as Col. Samantha Carter took the Tok’ra memory recall devices from their case. “You sure you’re okay with this?” he asked his brother, who was sitting on the cot in the VIP quarters they were using for this... exchange of information.

“Not really,” was Dean’s blunt reply. “But if this is what it takes to get you out of there in one piece....”

He trailed off, and Castiel, awkward as ever, floundered for a moment before giving Dean a comforting pat on the shoulder. The angel outlaw alone had any inkling of what Dean had been through.

“It’s the least dangerous of our options, anyway,” Sam shrugged.

“I’ll go first,” offered Carter. “I don’t know how useful Jolinar’s and my memories will be in this case, since demons probably don’t have ring transporters, but it won’t hurt for you to have something to compare to.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

Carter attached a small disk to Sam’s temple and another to her own. Then she used a sonic screwdriver-looking thingy to activate hers. “I’m putting this on a low setting so we won’t experience the physical memories,” she explained.

Dean winced. “You mean the pain.”

“Yeah. When Martouf had me work through Jolinar’s memories on our way to Ne’tu, he had it turned up too high. I’m... pretty sure I screamed.”

Dean and Sam shared a grimace, and then Carter activated the disk on Sam’s temple. Salim, his Tok’ra symbiote, had told him what to expect, but the mechanical connection between the two devices and thence between his mind and Carter’s was still an odd sensation, not at all like the purely psychic connections he’d experienced in the past.

 _Are you well?_ Salim asked.

Sam had to stop himself from nodding. _Yeah, I’m fine... just feels weird._

 _We’ll take it slow_ , he heard Carter think. _The recall isn’t always easy to control_.

 _Okay_ , he sent back. _Thanks, Colonel_.

Carter nodded once and took a deep breath, then closed her eyes and tried to focus as the device began calling up memories that Sam saw as clearly as if they were visions. Carter began with the moment in 1999 when the Tok’ra Martouf stepped through the Gate to tell her about her father’s imprisonment on Ne’tu. She then recalled flashes of the briefing, then-Col. Jack O’Neill’s flippancy about going to Hell, the trip through hyperspace during which she tried to reclaim Jolinar’s memories with Martouf’s coaching. Echoes of Jolinar’s feelings for Martouf and his symbiote Lantash bled through the link as Carter transmitted what she could of her former symbiote’s experiences, as did her own feelings for O’Neill as she remembered his arguing with Martouf on her behalf and her gratitude for Daniel Jackson’s support as he talked with her about memories Jolinar had refused to share with Martouf. The concern on Teal’c’s face that was Carter’s last sight before the coffin-like descent pod closed around her. The revulsion over exactly what Jolinar had had to do to deceive Bynarr, warden of the prison planet. The screams, the smells, the darkness, the fires. The relief of finding her father mingled with fear for his life.

Soon it became difficult to distinguish Jolinar’s memories from Carter’s own, though the two versions of Bynarr were distinguishable by the visibly infected gash where Bynarr’s left eye had been removed by the Goa’uld Sokar (who looked oddly like Voldemort, except for the nose) as punishment for allowing Jolinar’s escape. Sam quickly became very grateful that the recall device was set low enough that he couldn’t actually feel the torture Jolinar had undergone. The images were bad enough, even though he knew Ne’tu wasn’t even close to what the real Hell was like. And SG-1’s capture by their long-time nemesis, the Goa’uld Apophis, was an unpleasant twist as well.

Then they got to the part where Apophis, in a bid to gain valuable information to barter with Sokar for his freedom, forced Carter to drink a hallucinogen called the Blood of Sokar, and Sam couldn’t help thinking, _That’s not what demon blood tastes like_. And before he knew it, _he_ was showing _her_ a flashback of one of the worst points of his addiction, followed by a flash of the withdrawal in Bobby’s panic room. Her shock jolted him back into her mind. _Sorry_ , he sent with a mental grimace and felt her accept the apology.

But the next thing that surfaced in Carter’s memory wasn’t Ne’tu. Sam suddenly caught a sense memory of metal fingers pushing into Carter’s forehead, flashes of intense mental torture, Carter pleading with a sullen-faced young man with a mop of curly brown hair... _they will know nothing of cruelty, betrayal, revenge... you will be unhappy for a very long time_....

Carter reached up with the activator thingy and severed the link, then closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Sam. That wasn’t what I meant to show you.”

Sam rubbed at his own forehead, the echoes of pain still lingering as Carter switched off his recall device. “Who was Fifth? What was that all about?”

“He was the fifth human-form Replicator to emerge in the Othalla Galaxy. He thought he was in love with me until I was forced to leave him behind, trapped in a time dilation field with the other Replicators. When they got loose and captured me... he didn’t take it too well.”

“Understatement.”

 _Stop rubbing your forehead_ , Salim groused. _There is no injury._

Sam forced himself to put his hand in his jeans pocket. “I’m sorry if... my memories were what threw you.”

She patted his arm with a tight smile. “I guess we all have dark corners like that in our minds.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing.

“Maybe I should go next,” Cas offered.

Carter drew a deep breath, nodded, and moved the disk from her temple to his.

“You sure you want to do this, Cas?” Sam asked. “I know it’s asking a lot....”

Cas tilted his head with that slight puzzled frown that meant _Humans are so strange_. “You’re my friend, Sam. My memories may aid your escape. Why would I not wish to help you?”

Even after all this time, Sam still felt embarrassed and unworthy whenever Cas actually admitted to considering him a friend. He knew it was true, had seen that friendship demonstrated time and again, but it still felt awkward to hear Cas _say_ it.

“Aw, Sammy, you’re so cute when you blush,” Dean teased.

Sam felt his face flush even redder. “Shut up, jerk.”

He was spared from hearing Dean’s usual retort by Carter’s activating the devices, which quickly pulled Sam into Cas’ mind.

 _... Fascinating_ , was Cas’ reaction to the link.

Sam snorted. _Thank you, Mr. Spock._

_Who?_

_Did we seriously never introduce you to Star Trek?_ An image of Spock with his eyebrow raised floated to the surface of Sam’s mind.

_Oh, him. My apologies. I fear my grasp on television references is still tenuous._

Sam smiled affectionately at that.

_Now. You wish to see my memories of my mission to rescue Dean._

_Right._

Cas concentrated, and Sam was given a brief glimpse of Heaven from an angel’s point of view—not terribly interesting from a mortal perspective, but the light was bearable because he had Cas’ eyes as a filter—before the seraph Zachariah, Dean’s old nemesis and Cas’ former superior, assembled the garrison and instructed them to find the Righteous Man in Hell and return him to life on Earth. _Castiel had long known of the Winchesters’ importance to the Eschaton, of course, and he had been assigned to watch and assist the family as unobtrusively as possible from the moment of Dean’s birth, though it had pained him not to interfere in such matters as Mary’s death. But he was slightly surprised to learn that Dean was the prophesied Righteous Man—his sins might be venial, but they were manifold, and Dean was thoroughly unrepentant about most of them. Still, Zachariah must have his reasons for giving such an order, so Castiel readied himself to descend with the rest of the garrison and lay siege to Hell_.

“Into the valley of Death / Rode the six hundred,” Sam muttered, and only when he heard Dean snort did he realize that he’d said it aloud.

Cas more or less fast-forwarded through his memories of the siege and tried to focus his attention on the scenery rather than the battles, but there were still quite a few moments that made Sam wince, and not just because of the perceived pain of the angels’ injuries (the only fatalities were on Hell’s side). He’d been right, though: Hell didn’t look a bit like Ne’tu. It was far worse.

_Somehow, seeing Dean’s soul in this place, the notion of his being the Righteous Man didn’t seem quite so ridiculous. Castiel grieved that they had not gotten to him in time to prevent him from breaking the first seal, but even now, broken and begrimed as Dean was, his light had not fully faltered and outshone all around him, and it appeared that Alastair was still choosing victims for Dean’s knife that the man could readily hate—murderers, abusers of children, sexual predators, and the like._

_He didn’t belong here. Purgatory, perhaps, but not here._

_Castiel wasn’t sure if it was chance or an unspoken consensus among the garrison, but he was the first to reach Dean, who quailed before the onslaught of his light. Uriel had his hands full with Alastair, so Castiel took hold of Dean’s arm, burned away his sins with a touch, and pulled him out._

_Castiel noticed that Dean’s soul was still deeply scarred as he gently fitted it back into the remade body, but he had neither the skill nor the time to make further repairs. They had work to do._

“Enough,” Cas said with a sigh, and Carter switched off the devices.

Sam drew a deep breath. “That... that helps, Cas. Thanks.”

Cas shook his head despondently. “If I had known then....”

“Cas. It’s okay. You didn’t know, and neither did I, and neither did Dean. We’re gonna fix it now; that’s all that matters.”

Cas searched his face for a moment before nodding. “Yes. Thank you, Sam.”

Carter moved the device from Cas’ temple to Dean’s, and Dean winced and cursed under his breath at the sharp stab of pain. Then she handed the activator thingy to Sam. “Salim can tell you how to use this,” she said. “We’ll wait outside, give you guys some privacy.”

“Thanks, Colonel,” the brothers chorused.

Cas smiled at both of them and followed Carter out of the room.

Sam sat down to Dean’s right and sighed. “You ready?”

Dean closed his eyes with a sigh and nodded. Sam reached up with the activator thing and, with Salim’s coaching, activated the devices.

Dean’s eyes opened. _That felt weird_.

Sam snorted. _Tell me about it._

And suddenly they were both remembering similar exchanges over the years—the astral projection jaunt, the dream root incident, the time they discovered that they could experience each other’s version of heaven. That prompted a string of memories on Sam’s end that he felt sure should have been in his hit parade had Zachariah not interfered, all of them featuring Dean. Dean responded with a string of his favorite memories of Sam, from the day Mary had announced her pregnancy to the day Sam took the risk of bringing Dean along to try to rescue their half-brother Adam from Zachariah’s crazy plan to trap Dean into agreeing to be Michael’s vessel. Sam showed Dean his life at Stanford. Dean showed Sam the wild things he’d done while they were apart.

They lost all track of time, sitting there side by side as they had done since they were tiny, viewing their lives through each other’s eyes, learning things about themselves and about each other that they could never have expressed in words. Apologies that went unspoken were accepted and returned. Fears too deep to name were finally understood, and some were finally dismissed. Tears of joy and tears of sorrow fell equally unremarked. And the one thing their pride could hardly ever let them say echoed between them over and over again:

_I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re my brother._

* * *

Carter glanced at her watch and was startled to see that it was nearly noon; they’d started the session at 8. “They’ve been in there a long time,” she said to Castiel. “Do you think we oughta....”

The angel shook his head. “No. I suspect they cannot say their farewells in any other way.”

Carter inclined her head in understanding. “I guess I’ll get some lunch, then.”

Castiel nodded once. “I will stay here and keep watch.”

Carter started to reply that they had Marines for that sort of thing, but then she remembered that Castiel was still the brothers’ self-appointed guardian. “Uh, sure. I’ll be back in about half an hour. Want me to bring you anything?”

“No, thank you, Sam. I will wait for the Winchesters.”

“Right. Um, I’ll... be back soon.”

“Thank you.”

Carter smiled and walked away, wondering if she would ever not feel awkward around Castiel. The only other angel she knew was Gabriel, and he was... different.

* * *

It wasn’t until they’d gone through Sam’s memories of the Mystery Spot that Dean asked him to switch off the devices for a moment.

Sam did so. “You okay, Dean?”

“Peachy,” Dean replied flatly as he got up to walk around the room and stretch his back.

“Dean....”

“Dude, I’m fine. It’s just....” He sighed. “This is the one part of my brain I never wanted to share with you. I just need a minute.”

“We can take a break if you want.”

“Gah!” cried Dean, though he wasn’t looking at Sam. He wasn’t even talking to Sam at the moment. “Quit reading _his_ mind, would you?! Bad enough you read mine; _I’m_ the only one who’s supposed to read Sam’s!” A beat passed. “Yeah, okay, Salim, too, but it’s the principle of the thing.”

Salim started laughing, and Sam joined him.

“Bunch of comedians, all of you,” Dean grumbled, which probably meant that Dishon was laughing at him, too.

“Seriously, though, Dean, we don’t have to do this now.”

“Yeah, we do. That was the whole point, right? Give you and Salim the memories you need to bust out of there. Let’s... let’s just get it over with.”

Sam nodded. “We can stop any time. Just—tap out or something.”

Dean took a deep breath and blew it out again. “Yeah. Okay.” He walked around the room another time or two before sitting down beside Sam again. “Okay, I... think I know how I want to do this.”

“You’re ready?”

Dean nodded once, and Sam activated the devices again, making sure they were on the very lowest possible setting. And suddenly they were seeing Cold Oak through Dean’s eyes. _Dean was so relieved to see Sam again, and Sam—no, nonononoSAM!!!_

Sam had barely felt the knife sever his spinal cord the first time around, and viewing the memory from Dean’s angle wouldn’t have carried the sense memory with it anyway, but Sam still flinched as he saw Jake Talley strike the fatal blow.

_Dean didn’t even remember the reassurances he babbled as he tried to stem the flow of blood from Sam’s back, just that he was babbling and trying to keep himself and Sam calm long enough for Bobby to get to them, to get help... and then the light went out of Sam’s eyes—and out of Dean’s life._

_He kept vigil over Sam’s corpse for three days, growing more and more desperate for a way to cope with the grief. But he couldn’t let go. Sam didn’t deserve to die. And he’d failed at the one task he’d been trying to do for twenty-three-and-a-half years: save Sammy._

_“What am I supposed to do?!” he finally screamed in despair._

_And then it hit him: two lives (that he knew of) had already been exchanged for his. Maybe it was time for him to exchange his life for Sam’s. Shoot, Sam had gotten by without Dean for three whole years at Stanford. He’d know how to survive without Dean far better than Dean knew how to survive without Sam._

Sam snorted. How wrong they’d been.

_“Something big is happening—end-of-the-world big,” Bobby said._

_“Then let it end!” Dean cried. And not many hours later he made the deal that would bring that wish perilously close to coming true._

Dean cleared his throat. “Um. Obviously, you know what happened after that.”

“Yeah.” And Sam called up the memory of Dean being attacked by the hellhounds.

Dean somehow managed to merge that memory with his own, because Sam was suddenly able to see the hounds advance, sense Dean’s soul separating from his body as he died, and watch in horror as the hounds grabbed soul-Dean’s arms and dragged him screaming into Hell.

 _Details, Sam_ , Salim reminded him. _We need details_.

 _You watch for details_, Sam shot back, unable to focus on anything but his brother’s suffering.

Dean tried to concentrate on the geography of Hell as he’d experienced it, but he wasn’t able to avoid some flashes of his thirty years on the rack, Sam’s name being the only coherent word that would cross his lips. He hadn’t been moved much during that time—not until:

_“It would be so simple, Dean,” purred Alastair. “Just turn the knife on someone else, and the torture stops.”_

_Thirty years he’d held out. Thirty years with no relief, no respite, no sign that Sam had found a way to get him out. He’d heard that every man has his breaking point, but Dean tried to convince himself that he wasn’t really breaking. If he did what Alastair wanted now, maybe there’d be a chance to escape on his own sooner or later. And if he really was stuck there for eternity...._

_“Yes,” Dean croaked. “Okay. I’ll do it.”_

_Alastair looked like the cat that ate the canary, but he honored his word. Dean suddenly found himself unbound and in one piece._

_Then Alastair led Dean into another chamber with murmured instructions, and Dean froze as he caught sight of exactly who his first patient was to be: Mrs. Grosvenor, Sammy’s second-grade teacher in Prattville, Alabama... the one who’d verbally abused Sammy incessantly during the two months they were there, to the point that Dean’s genius little brother had very nearly given up on school altogether. She was one of the few people Dean had ever hoped was a monster so they’d have a reason to kill her._

_She didn’t look like the grey-haired, pinched-faced, acid-tongued teacher now; rather, she looked about 25, and Dean could grudgingly see what her husband had seen in her. But even after eighteen Earth years and thirty Hell years, he still hated her for what she’d done to Sam._

_“Give me the knife,” he said to Alastair_ —and suddenly Sam felt Dean grabbing at his hand.

Sam quickly shook his head once to make his eyes focus on the present and switched off the devices. Relieved, Dean sagged against his knees, which he’d drawn up to his chest at some point.

“God forgive me,” Dean breathed, and Sam wondered if he’d misheard. “The things I did to her, Sammy....”

“You couldn’t know,” Sam replied quietly. “And since she was _there_ , she probably deserved it, though... maybe she didn’t deserve to be the first seal.”

“That’s not the worst part. You remember her granddaughter, the one we called ‘the demon spawn’?”

Sam’s gut clenched. “She was like Brady?”

“Yahtzee. First contact—Azazel hadn’t figured you out yet. After that, his minions pretended to be your friends.”

Sam was suddenly glad they hadn’t eaten yet. But he had to lighten the mood somehow, so he cleared his throat and said, “Dude, did you just use the word ‘minion’ correctly in a sentence?”

“Shut up, Geek Boy,” Dean growled with a grateful sparkle in his eyes.

“Was there anything else?”

Dean sighed. “I dunno if it’ll help. But yeah, I can probably show you some of the places they took me after that. I think they were leading me deeper into the Pit, trying to keep me away from Cas.”

Sam shrugged. “If the cage is in the middle of the Ninth Circle....”

“Dude, it’s not like Dante. You saw that.”

“So? I’m just saying, maybe your memories would be a better guide if we’re trying not to get caught getting out. Cas kind of went for the direct line approach whenever he could.”

Dean closed his eyes and swallowed hard a couple of times before opening them again. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

Sam activated Dean’s device once more, but while he was activating his own, Dean walked over to the table and picked up a computer tablet that Carter had left. Sam could see the memories Dean was working from, but the low setting allowed Dean enough control that he could sketch a sort of map of the corridors as he went, not allowing himself to remember what had happened behind the various doors. But it wasn’t very easy going; even though those last ten years had been short on physical agony, Alastair’s mind-games were hard to shake off.

Slowly, but perhaps not as slowly as Sam had feared, Dean reached the memory of his last day in Hell— _the sounds of battle coming from somewhere, and Alastair looked genuinely afraid for the first time in forty years; then suddenly, Dean was alone and surrounded by bright white light, pureholyburningpurgingscreamedPULLED_ —

But rather than coming to in Dean’s coffin, both brothers found themselves in Bobby’s kitchen with both Tok’ra looking at them in concern. And Sam was incongruously surprised that, contrary to what he’d thought for the last month, Dishon didn’t look at all like Gene Simmons or Alice Cooper, but rather more like Tyrone Power.

Dean drew a deep breath and cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Are you well, Dean?” Dishon asked.

“No. I mean, I will be.” Dean put the tablet, which looked like a legal pad in this space, down on the table. “Um. Here’s the map.”

Before Sam could even get a good look at it, Salim tore the paper from the pad, examined it, and tucked it inside his tunic. “I will keep this, Sam. You need not worry over it.”

Sam nodded once... and then, on impulse, pulled Dean into a hug. And for once, Dean didn’t try to resist.

“I don’t think I ever said thank you,” Sam said quietly.

“Sam.”

“I mean, we know now what was really going on, but if you’d been right, if I _had_ gone to Hell after Cold Oak....”

“Yeah.”

Sam held on a moment longer before backing away enough to look Dean in the eye. “You know I wish there was another way. Any other way.”

Dean nodded. “I know, Sam. You just... make it quick.”

Sam huffed a laugh. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

“And Salim?” Dean turned to the Tok’ra. “You take care of my brother.”

“You have my word of honor, Dean Winchester,” Salim replied solemnly.

“Dishon?” Sam said.

“I will look after your brother,” Dishon nodded. “Do you look after mine.”

Sam chuckled again. “Yeah. That’s a promise.”

Dean sniffled, swiping at his eyes, and cleared his throat and nudged Sam. “Hey, Sammy. Whaddaya say we get some lunch?”

“That’s the best idea you’ve had all day, Dean,” Sam laughed and severed the link.


	2. Look Out (Here Comes Tomorrow)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to AuntMo for inadvertently suggesting this chapter title. The song Dean gets stuck in his head is “Set Me as a Seal” by René Clausen, and the National Lutheran Choir’s performance is available [here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Qb6uY-y9HRI) on YouTube; it’s a setting of Song of Songs 8:6-7, whence also the title of this story. I’m relying on the timeline by hells_half_acre (on LJ) for the setting of the memory. (Side note: the word _love_ in these verses, Hebrew אַהֲבָה, is translated as ἀγάπη in the Septuagint. So it really is appropriate for this non-slash context.)

Dean’s stomach growled as they left the VIP quarters and nodded to Cas. “C’mon, Sammy. It’s...” _Taco Tuesday_ , he nearly said before remembering that it might not be wise to bring that up again. “After one,” he said instead, “and Teal’c says there’s somethin’ really good in the mess hall today.”

Sam looked a little queasy still, but he shrugged. “Have you eaten yet, Cas?”

Cas looked surprised. “No. I was waiting for you.”

Dean shook his head in disapproval. “Can’t skip meals now, Cas. You _have_ to eat. We don’t want you getting sick again.”

Cas looked like he was about to object that he had only been injured last time, not ill, but his own stomach growled loudly and ended the discussion.

Carter was deep in conversation with Daniel and Teal’c when they got to the mess hall and looked a little guilty when she saw them coming toward the table with their trays. (Well, Dean and Cas had trays. Sam had a bowl of soup in one hand and a bowl of blue Jell-O in the other.) “I’m so sorry, Castiel,” she said. “I completely lost track of time.”

“It’s okay,” Cas replied, the human idiom still sounding odd coming from him. “Your presence was not required. We were in no danger.”

“Still, I didn’t mean to leave you standing out in that hall all by yourself for so long. It must have been boring.”

“Castiel is incapable of becoming bored,” said Gabriel, strolling up to the table with his own tray of tacos and with Bobby Singer in tow. “I wouldn’t say he’s patient, exactly, just easily entertained.”

“Explains why he puts up with these two idjits,” Bobby rumbled, ignoring Cas’ slightly offended frown. “How’d it go, boys?”

“It went,” said Sam vaguely. “We weren’t expecting you till later.”

“Gabriel drove.”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look that said _I don’t want to know_ and settled in for a stretch of tolerable food and much better conversation _._

Dean had his game face firmly in place by the end of lunch, and at a break in the conversation he clapped his hands once to change the subject back to the task at hand. “So! That’s done. Now what?”

Sam sighed. “Now I guess we try to find enough demons for me to kill and drain.”

“Uh, actually...” Carter interrupted. When they looked at her, she continued, “Dr. Beckett was able to isolate the protein we think is responsible for the ‘demon blood’ effect, and it doesn’t seem to have a kill switch like the Croatoan virus does. We could probably synthesize enough for you not to have to actually drink any blood, even include all the right minerals in the solution. Dr. Lam won’t be happy about it, but... I thought I should offer.”

Dean blinked. “So, what, he’d inject it like insulin?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Would that work, Cas?” Sam asked, sounding more hopeful than he probably meant to.

Cas frowned at Gabriel, who shrugged. “I don’t know,” said Cas. “I suppose it’s worth a try.”

“Dean?”

Dean sighed. “You know I don’t want you anywhere near that stuff, Sam. But if that’s what it takes, then yeah, I’d rather you shoot up the protein.”

“If I never taste blood again, it’ll be too soon,” Sam confessed quietly.

Carter gave him an empathetic grimace and turned to Cas. “How much will he need, Castiel?”

Cas shrugged. “Ordinarily, he would need at least four gallons of blood, but the presence of the symbiote should sustain him with less. I don’t know how much protein that works out to.”

Carter nodded. “We got a blood sample from Brady. It won’t be hard to replicate.”

“That’s it, then,” Sam agreed. “Let’s do it that way.”

Carter nodded again and started to leave, then stopped and turned back. “You know... Lucifer’s hanging out in the Badlands right now. We could probably get the protein synthesized before he moves again.”

Sam shook his head. “No. He knows we know he’ll be in Detroit. There haven’t been enough omens in the Dakotas to justify our looking for him there. If there’s any chance at all of keeping you guys off his radar long enough for me to jump....”

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll... go talk to Dr. Lee.” And she left.

* * *

Although he was one of the last civilian scientists left on the base, Dr. Bill Lee didn’t have any objections and didn’t foresee any problem with synthesizing the amount of protein required in the time available. Dr. Carolyn Lam, on the other hand, had multiple objections and argued them strenuously:

“There is no way a human can possibly ingest that much blood in such a short amount of time. And even if there were, the body can’t process that much protein—I mean, _look_ at these saturation levels compared to Ronon Dex’s Wraith enzyme levels after he was captured in 2008, and he barely survived the withdrawal. To say nothing of how it will affect Salim! You cannot expect me....”

“Doctor,” Dishon finally interrupted. “What dosage of the protein would you consider an overdose?”

“It shouldn’t be in his system in the first place! Why are we talking about giving him more?”

“ _Doctor_.” This time Cas added his voice to Dishon’s.

Lam took a deep angry breath and let it out again. “You do realize what you’re asking.”

Sam nodded unhappily.

“I’ll take the blame,” Carter said quietly. “It was my idea to synthesize it.”

Lam relented and came up with a figure, and Cas told Lee to make one microgram less than that.

Lee did some quick mental math. “That will just about fill four syringes.”

Sam groaned. “I _am_ gonna look like a junkie.”

“Well, actually....”

“Bill,” Gabriel interrupted. “Just do it.”

Lee nodded and scurried out of the infirmary.

* * *

The humans had ample time for a long nap that afternoon, which Bobby, at least, needed; it was a nineteen-hour drive from Cheyenne Mountain to Detroit if they went straight through, longer if they stopped for meals, and Sam and Bobby argued that it was best to just _get there_ rather than trying to find a motel on the road. Dean wanted to go anywhere but Detroit, but he understood and agreed. There was no point in delaying the inevitable.

It was just that Sam was planning to end his own nightmares by making one of Dean’s very worst ones come true.

Dean knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep, but Dishon insisted that he lie down for a while anyway. _If the worst should happen, you will need your strength_ , Dishon noted.

So Dean sighed and did as his symbiote asked. And he tried to come up with something by Metallica or Led Zeppelin to hum that would help him relax. But what he kept coming back to was a song he’d heard the previous winter, when he and Sam had hung up their spurs for a while and holed up at Bobby’s while Dean recovered—physically, at least—from the last beating he’d taken from Alastair. There’d been some national choir giving a concert at the Lutheran church on Valentine’s Day, and for once Dean let Sam drag him out of the house to go to it, even though he expected to be thoroughly bored, because there was nothing on TV, they’d seen everything that was in the movie theater that was worth watching, and neither of them felt like going to a bar. And he had been bored, mostly, though it wasn’t all bad music, and it had been time with his brother that he hadn’t had in quite a while. This one song, though... this one had stuck with him, and he’d recalled it that morning when he was sharing his brain with Sam:

_Set me as a seal upon your heart,  
As a seal upon your arm,  
For love is strong as death..._

_Many waters cannot quench love,  
Neither can the floods drown it,  
Neither can the floods drown it...._

Part of Dean, in the deepest depth of his heart of hearts, still wanted to believe that God cared in spite of everything they’d been through, in spite of His refusal to intervene. And once in a while that part wriggled past all of his defenses and got off a prayer before he could stifle it. Like now. He found himself praying that the song was true, that his love for Sam and Sam’s love for him would be the seal that bound Lucifer in Hell once more as well as the lifeline that would bring Sam back to him in spite of everything.

He had nothing else left to give except his life, and he knew for a fact that Sam didn’t want him doing _that_ again.

* * *

Lee handed over the syringes just in time for Maj. Gen. Hank Landry to ask Team Free Will to come to a final briefing with Atlantis before they left. Atlantis, they learned, had sent two ZPMs to Earth to allow the _Apollo_ and the _Daedalus_ to join the _Odyssey_ in evacuating most of the key non-military IOA and SGC personnel—along with several irreplaceable pieces of technology and database backups, one irreplaceable Jeannie Miller and her family, and one highly irreplaceable Master Bra’tac of the Jaffa—to the Pegasus Galaxy, since not even Gabriel was clear on how the whole prophecy about the stars was supposed to play out. The Ancient power sources enabled the Asgard hyperdrives to get the Earth ships to Atlantis in four days rather than three weeks. China had sent the newly repaired _Sun Tzu_ to guard the Alpha Site, whence Lt. Gen. Jack O’Neill intended to evacuate most of Earth’s leaders if necessary, and Russia had sent its only ship to the Tok’ra homeworld. Only the _Hammond_ remained in orbit around Earth, waiting to return O’Neill to Washington and to allow Carter to track the Winchesters as they made their move.

Dean didn’t pay much attention to most of what was said during the briefing, being too busy wishing that he could drag Sammy to Atlantis now and let the angels and demons have Earth to themselves. But he did perk up when Dr. Carson Beckett announced that he and the Wraith known as Todd had finally finished their vaccine for the Croatoan virus.

“Ironically, it was Dean’s blood work that held the final piece of the puzzle,” Beckett explained. “We still don’t know what that unusual antigen of his does, but we combined it with the Wraith serum and the Prior plague vaccine, and it seems to have done the trick. Of course, computer simulations can tell us only so much, but it looks like we’ve cracked it. I’ve sent the formula in the data burst.”

“Awesome,” grinned Dean.

“We’ll hold onto it,” O’Neill replied. “Hopefully we won’t need it, but it won’t hurt to have it on hand. Thank you, Doctor.”

Beckett nodded and sat back in his chair.

And finally the moment they’d all been dreading arrived. O’Neill turned to Team Free Will and said, “Now, I understand you guys have figured out a way to end this once and for all, or at least for the rest of this century. Would you mind filling us in?”

Sam rubbed his hands on his thighs nervously and cleared his throat. It was one thing explaining his buckets-of-crazy plan to Dean, Dishon, and Cas at Bobby’s kitchen table; explaining it to this crowd was something else, and Dean didn’t blame him for being nervous. But they’d all agreed that Sam was in the driver’s seat, all the way, which meant he was also in the hot seat at the moment.

“This is as much Salim’s plan as it is mine,” Sam began slowly. “It was my idea, but he figured out how to make it work. He wouldn’t be going along with it if he hadn’t. So I’ve asked him to explain it to you.”

His head bobbed, and his spine straightened as Salim took over. “My brother Dishon has likened this plan to using the weapon platform on Dakara, a dangerous plan with high risk of failure and cataclysmic consequences, only to be undertaken as a last resort. He is not wrong. But as in the final battle with the Replicators, we have no remaining alternative.

“We have now secured the components necessary to open Lucifer’s cage, and Dean and Dishon alone know the incantation required. We have also secured the ingredients necessary to prepare Sam for his role. There is no way of telling how they will affect me, so once we are in position, I shall hibernate until I am needed.

“The plan, simply stated, is this. Tomorrow night Lucifer will be in Detroit. He expects Sam to meet him there and agree to be his vessel. What he does not expect is that Dean will accompany Sam to the meeting. Dean will then open the cage while Sam wrests back control from Lucifer long enough to jump through the opening. Lucifer will not need his vessel once he has been returned to Hell, so once Sam is free of him, he shall wake me, and together we shall set about finding our way to a hellmouth and make our escape. Hell, it seems, is set in a time dilation field that is faster than Earth time by a ratio of 120:1, so if we have not returned to the surface within twenty Earth months, you may assume we have perished. But under no circumstance is anyone to attempt a rescue.”

Dean hadn’t been sure whether to expect silence or an explosion, but the silence was deafening until O’Neill leaned forward and said, “You’re talking about a suicide mission here.”

“We are aware that our return is unlikely,” Salim replied calmly. “But it is our only option.”

“That’s not what bothers me, General—with respect,” stated Lt. Col. John Sheppard. “I mean, between you and me alone, we’ve pulled off, what, _dozens_ of suicide missions?”

O’Neill sighed. “Hate to admit it, but there were a few of ’em I didn’t survive. Winchester’s not gonna have access to a sarcophagus.”

“But the point is we survived more than we should have, so ‘suicide mission’ officially doesn’t mean much to the SGC. What bothers me is this ‘wrest back control’ part. I’m not exactly an expert on demon possession, but that doesn’t sound too likely to me. So what happens if Sam can’t make the jump?”

“Then Michael will meet Lucifer on the chosen field,” Cas answered, “and they will fight, and the world will end.”

Another silence followed, again broken by O’Neill. “I can’t authorize this. I can’t imagine the Tok’ra High Council going for it, either.”

Dishon nudged Dean, who stepped back. “I am sorry, General, but you have both been overruled.”

O’Neill frowned. “Who could overrule me _and_ the Tok’ra?”

“Death.”

Now the incredulous stares were on him rather than Salim, and he could almost hear Sam’s mental _What?!_ Dean had hoped with all his might that they wouldn’t have to play this card, but since they had to, he was glad Dishon was the one doing it—and that Salim was driving at the time, because Sam _would_ explode.

“Come again?” said O’Neill.

“We could not kill Death nor take his ring by force,” Dishon explained. “But he was willing to give us the ring and the incantation on the condition that we return Lucifer to Hell by any means necessary, even at the cost of Sam’s life. Seeing no alternative, we agreed. At the time, Dean still held out hope for another option. But we have exhausted every other possibility.”

“And before you ask,” Gabriel added, “no, no one else is capable of doing this. Lucifer’s already got a temporary vessel, even though Nick’s falling apart right now. He won’t settle for anyone less than Sam.”

Dr. Rodney McKay held up a finger. “I thought Armageddon was supposed to take place outside Jerusalem.”

Gabriel just shrugged.

Sheppard looked at McKay oddly. “When did you become Mr. Bible Trivia?”

McKay rolled his eyes and didn’t answer.

O’Neill sighed. “Have I mentioned lately how much I hate surprises?”

“You are not alone in that,” Cas remarked dryly.

“I... I can’t authorize this mission. But I can’t order you not to do it, either. So... I guess I’ll just say... Godspeed.”

The Tok’ra bowed their heads in acknowledgment.

“Atlantis, check back with us Friday morning at 0900. If we don’t answer... you’ll know you’re on your own.”

“Understood, General,” replied Richard Woolsey, the commander of Atlantis. “And Sam, Dean, I too wish you Godspeed on behalf of the humans of the Pegasus Galaxy.”

“Thank you, Mr. Woolsey,” Dishon returned. “We thank you all for your assistance. And we hope to return to you with good news.”

“See that you do,” said O’Neill. “Dismissed.”

The Gate shut down, and the people remaining in the briefing room filed past Sam and Dean to at least shake hands. A few, like Daniel, wished them luck. Teal’c clasped their forearms in a warrior’s handshake, and his “I wish you well” managed to convey more than Dean had ever thought four words could possibly mean.

Carter was the last person to say goodbye to Sam, but he couldn’t let her leave without truly thanking her, so when she turned to go, Sam said, “Um, Colonel?”

Carter turned back to him. “Yes?”

“I, um... I... wanted to say thank you. For everything.”

She blinked. “Um. You’re welcome.”

“Just... I don’t have all that many memories of her first-hand, but... you remind me a lot of my mom. And....” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue.

She blinked again for a moment, and Sam could see that she was blinking back tears. Then she pulled him into a hug, and he very nearly broke down himself.

“I cannot begin to imagine what you’re going through or what’s waiting for you down there,” she whispered. “And I am so sorry you have to do this. If there were anything I could do....”

“You have, Colonel. You’ve done so much, I can’t even... I don’t want to know how much harder it would have been if it had just been me and Dean. Yeah, we’d have Bobby and Cas, and we would have been stuck with Crowley, but Gabriel would have died, and... you’ve helped. A lot. You all have.”

She sniffled and patted his arm. “Hurry back.”

He smiled wryly. “We will.”

Meanwhile, Dean was taking a head count and noticed that Gabriel was lounging in the doorway to the briefing room. “You comin’?” Dean asked.

“Nope, I’m staying here,” Gabriel said. “You don’t need me for this anyway, but these people need protection, and we can’t let Lucifer get to the Stargate. Between Sam and Salim, he’ll know enough to be dangerous.”

“Okay. Don’t come after us until you’re sure it’s over.”

Gabriel nodded and lowered his voice. “Dean. I wasn’t lying in Muncie, when I said I’d seen how it ends. But I suspect now that all I saw was a probable future. Yogi Berra was right; it ain’t over till it’s over. Do _not_ give up hope, no matter what happens in Detroit. You may be Sam’s greatest weakness, but you’re his greatest strength as well. I should have realized that a lot sooner.”

Dean knew this was probably as close as Gabriel was ever going to come to apologizing for the Mystery Spot. “Thanks, dude. Really. Thanks for everything.”

Gabriel nodded again, and Dean left, snagging Sam on his way out the door.

On their way to the parking lot, Bobby insisted both that he drive his own van and that Cas ride in the Impala. Cas looked hurt until Bobby pointed out that the van didn’t have a comfortable place for a passenger to sleep, “and you look like you’re gonna need sleep, son. You still ain’t completely well for a human.”

Cas sighed and climbed into the back seat without further argument.

Neither Sam nor Dean said much until they reached the South Platte River, which prompted some _Oregon Trail_ jokes. By that time, Cas was sound asleep and snoring, and somehow that seemed to help both brothers feel that they could address sore points remaining from the briefing without shouting at each other.

“I can’t believe...” Sam began, then stopped.

Dean glanced over at him. “What?”

“Death.”

Dean sighed. “Like Dishon said, I thought there had to be another way. Some kind of bait, somethin’. I mean, you know I would never....”

Sam looked at his hands a little guiltily. “Yeah. I guess I do.” Then he looked over at Dean again. “You were seriously going to try to cheat Death for me?”

Dean shrugged. “Done it before.”

Sam chuckled.

“But by then I guess I was the only one who thought we had another out. And after that last talk with Dishon, I didn’t think it would matter to you that Death’s ring came with strings attached. I didn’t... I mean, I didn’t expect O’Neill to be okay with this, but I didn’t expect to have to pull rank like that, either.”

“Well, technically, Dishon was the one who pulled rank.”

Dean snorted, accepting the comment for what it was, and they were silent for a few more miles.

“So what is this about no rescue missions? You guys including me in that?”

“Yes. You’ve got to promise not to try to bring us back.”

“No. You can’t ask me to sit by and do nothing.”

“I’m sorry, Dean, you have to. If there is a safe way out, Salim and I will find it. But once the cage is shut, you can’t go poking at it. It’s too risky.”

“Then what am I supposed to do for the next two years? Twiddle my thumbs? Dishon and I talked—we’re not gonna go back to the Tok’ra because I am _not_ gonna be halfway across the galaxy when you get out.”

“Then find Lisa. Pray to God she’s dumb enough to take you in. And you have barbecues and go to football games. You go live some normal, apple-pie life for a while, Dean. Promise me!”

 _You know he’s right, Dean_ , Dishon said sadly. _We don’t have much choice._

Dean sighed. “Okay. I promise.”

Sam heaved a sigh of relief and relaxed back into his seat. “Thanks.”

The only sound for the next hundred miles was Cas’ snoring.

* * *

It didn’t take them long to find the right spot in Detroit; the temperature suddenly plummeted twenty degrees, and Carter confirmed the coordinates when they called the _Hammond_. Once they were parked outside the house where Lucifer was hiding, Sam and Salim each said their farewells to Bobby and Cas. Then the blended hunter came back to the Impala, emptied his pockets, and took the syringe cases out of the trunk. His hands shook as he opened the first one.

“Dr. Lam said to inject it in the neck, right?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice level and not looking at Dean.

“Yeah,” Dean replied quietly.

“Do you mind not watchin’ this?”

Dean started to turn away, but Dishon nudged him and took over for a moment. “Sam, let Salim do it.”

Sam blew the air out of his cheeks. “Okay. Thanks, Dishon.”

Dishon relinquished control, and Dean walked to the front bumper of the Impala, keeping his back turned as the quiet hiss of the injectors marked a gradual increase in his brother’s breathing. By the time the trunk slammed shut, Sam was puffing like he’d just run a four-minute mile.

“G’night, Salim,” Dean heard him murmur, and then Sam was stalking up behind him, radiating anger and determination. “All right. Let’s go.”

And Dean followed him into the lion’s den—and came out alone.


	3. Will I See You in September?

“Don’t lie to me, Sam,” Lucifer said. “I know you’re Tok’ra.”

“The Tok’ra speak with one voice,” Sam snarled. “ _Yes_.”

And that was the last Dean saw of his brother for a long twelve hours.

* * *

“It’s gone sideways, Jack,” Carter reported to O’Neill after beaming down to his office at the Pentagon. “We saw the energy spike when Dean opened the cage, and Lucifer’s life sign did go toward the event horizon, but it didn’t disappear. Then the spike ended and Lucifer took off for that spot in Nebraska where he was holed up during the Niveus raid.”

O’Neill swore. “Any sign of Michael?”

“Not yet. We haven’t been watching outside the US, but the only archangel that’s showing up on our sensors is Gabriel.”

“You rang?” said Gabriel, appearing just inside the closed door.

O’Neill cleared his throat. “Well, no, but since you’re here....”

Gabriel tapped his temple. “I heard. Dean’s probably on the phone to Chuck by now, but I’ll tell you just in case. The final battle goes down tomorrow at high noon, Central Time, in Stull Cemetery outside Lawrence, Kansas.”

“What can we do?” Carter asked quietly.

Gabriel sighed. “At this point? Not much beyond protecting the Gate. Lucifer knows the address of the Alpha Site and the Tok’ra homeworld by now; if he wins, no place in this galaxy is safe, and you don’t have the power to get to Atlantis in time. Dean’s the wild card. And if there’s one thing I know about that kid, it’s that he’ll do _anything_ for Sam—and if he can’t save him, he won’t let him die alone.”

O’Neill grimaced. “Can we hold the SGC?”

“Indefinitely? No. If Luci shows up himself? Probably not, unless we can rig a holy oil trap. But we won’t have trouble tonight. Luci’s not in a hurry; he’ll wait until after he takes out Michael before he sends anyone after us.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Gabriel nodded and vanished.

O’Neill made sure no one could see into the office, then walked around his desk and kissed Carter soundly.

“Jack....”

“I know, Sam.” He kissed her again and held her close for a moment, then backed away with a sigh. “Look, I need... we need the _Hammond_ monitoring Lawrence.”

Carter pulled herself together and nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll... I’ll see you on the flip side.”

“Take care of yourself, Carter.”

“You, too, sir.”

As the beam from the _Hammond_ took her away, O’Neill tried to cheer himself with memories of all the other times they’d managed to save the world from certain doom. It didn’t help. And sleep brought only nightmares of an alternate timeline in which Atlantis sent home an empty casket with a plaque that read “Col. Samantha Carter, USAF, 1967-2009,” when Pegasus swarmed with hybrids and Earth swarmed with demons and Croats, and neither he nor the Winchesters lived to find out whether McKay ever succeeded in bringing Sheppard back from the future.

* * *

The situation room at Homeworld Command was eerily quiet as the department’s personnel gathered to watch the sensor feed from the _Hammond_ , focused on Stull Cemetery, shortly before 1300 EDT. They had a video feed connecting them with the SGC, too, and a subspace audio link to the _Hammond_ , but they almost didn’t need either one; no one was in the mood to talk.

They were there to watch the end of the world.

Sure enough, there was Lucifer’s purple life sign, standing and waiting. At precisely 1300, a strong blue life sign joined it, and the two moved toward each other as if to parley. But O’Neill didn’t miss the green life sign at the edge of the screen.

From the way it moved toward the other two, Dean wasn’t just crashing this party; he was _driving the Impala_ into it. That, O’Neill thought, took guts.

Dean stopped a few yards away from Michael and Lucifer, and O’Neill wasn’t sure whether not having audio was a good thing or a bad thing. And then a light blue dot and a white dot appeared out of nowhere, and Michael vanished.

Followed shortly by the light blue dot. And shortly after that by the white dot. Gabriel cursed under his breath.

O’Neill had never watched hand-to-hand combat from a ship before, so he had no idea from the position of their life signs whether Lucifer and Dean were fighting or what, but the green life sign began to flicker. And then, suddenly, the purple life sign froze, became outlined in green, and backed away from Dean.

“The _hell_...” Landry whispered.

An energy spike appeared and spread into something that looked like the event horizon of a Stargate—“The cage is open!” Carter cried over the subspace link—and the green-purple life sign wavered at its edge for a moment. Then the bright blue life sign reappeared, lunged at the green-purple one... and both moved into the event horizon, which vanished along with them.

“He did it,” Gabriel breathed. “Sam actually jumped in the hole. And he took Michael with him.”

“It’s over?” O’Neill asked incredulously.

But Gabriel had vanished, and there were now two blue life signs surrounding the fading green one that had moved to where the event horizon had been. And a split second later the white life sign returned as well.

“Now what, Jack?” Landry asked.

O’Neill shrugged helplessly. “Looks like we’ve lived to fight another day. We might as well get back to work.” When no one seemed inclined to move, he added, “Or... we could have some cake and get back to work tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow, definitely,” Carter agreed. “Can’t solve all the galaxy’s problems in one day, can we?”

“You’ve been talking to McKay too much,” O’Neill teased. 

* * *

Dishon was already beginning to repair the injuries Dean had received at Lucifer’s hands when the bereft hunter stumbled to his knees on the spot where the now-closed earth had taken his brothers, too stunned to remember Sam’s promise to return and too battered to voice the keening cry that bubbled from his soul or to repeat the incantation that would let him fall into the cage himself. Then Cas returned, fully restored and even promoted, and healed Dean’s body with a touch while Gabriel did the same for Bobby (and Dishon kicked himself for not noticing either angel’s arrival).

But nothing angel or Tok’ra could do would ever heal the brokenness of Dean’s heart. They all knew that, and they all knew Dean had to try to make it without the angels or Bobby interfering. So did Homeworld Command; to keep the IOA at bay, O’Neill deliberately lost track of them once Gabriel and Bobby reported in. All Dishon could do now was to keep Dean alive long enough for time to begin to dull the pain, long enough for him to keep his promise.

Long enough for Sam and Salim to find their own way home.

* * *

On the outskirts of Cicero, Dean was startled by a red-clad figure standing in the middle of his lane. He slammed on the brakes and stopped barely an inch away from hitting her. Only when the car’s momentum ceased did he recognize the face.

It was Kali.

Dean got out. “Kali, what the hell?!”

Kali didn’t say anything for a moment, just looked at him sorrowfully. Then she reached out and gently touched his face. “He did it.”

Dean nodded sadly.

“Gabriel liked him.” She paused. “So did I.”

“Could... could you....”

“No. Even I don’t have the power. I’m sorry.”

Dean nodded again. “Just thought I’d ask.”

Kali pulled him into a four-armed hug and held him for a moment. Then she pulled back and said softly, “Lisa is waiting for you.”

“Thanks, Kali.”

“Fare you well, Dean Winchester. We will not meet again.” And she vanished.

Dean took a few deep, ragged breaths in an attempt to pull himself together, then got back in the car and continued on his way. He only just made it to Lisa’s door without falling apart.

* * *

Dean was a wreck for the first week that he was at Lisa’s, so much so that when Dishon offered to drive the morning after they arrived in Cicero, he relinquished control without a second thought. He tried to pay attention when Lisa spoke, to coach Dishon on how to react and what to say in return, but he just... couldn’t. He hadn’t spoken for months after Mom’s death; part of him felt that with Sammy gone, he might never speak again.

Dean’s body was 31 (if he ignored the repairs done two years earlier). His soul was 71 and felt older than it had when that stupid witch’s poker game left his physical form aged to 80.

_The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow...._

Dishon, on the other hand, was a sprightly 400, had endured more losses than Dean could count, and was a heck of an actor. He mourned for Sam no less than Dean did, but he knew from bitter experience how to keep moving despite a broken heart. The month that they had been blended was more than ample time for Dishon to learn Dean’s tastes, speech patterns, and mannerisms, and saying “I” when speaking for the host was old hat for a Tok’ra working undercover. Moreover, he had the benefit of all of Dean’s memories, which not only gave him all the information Dean had about Lisa and Ben but also showed the gaps in Dean’s knowledge that could be covered with the hunter’s awkwardness at a settled life rather than exposing the alien’s awkwardness at Tau’ri life. So Dishon spoke with Dean’s undistorted voice and ate Lisa’s meals with the appropriate level of enthusiasm, displayed some of their shared grief but not enough to alarm Lisa, drank some but not too much (not that a Tok’ra was capable of getting drunk on Earth liquor), kept Dean’s body active and did his best to befriend the boy who might or might not be Dean’s son. He kept Dean in the loop as much as he could, but he knew that if they were to keep their promise to Sam and Salim, Dishon would need to do most of the heavy lifting for a while.

After that first week, though, Dishon began prodding Dean to come back to himself. It started with Lisa gently suggesting over dinner that he look for a job.

_Dean? What kinds of work are you qualified to do?_

Dean snorted. _Dude, I’m_ _dead_. _Three times over. And all I’ve got’s a GED. No place would hire me now._

Dishon repeated these facts to Lisa, replacing the derisive snort with a weary sigh, even as he skimmed Dean’s memories in search of a trade. He supposed that if push came to shove, he could rely on his own skill set—they might be harder for foes to track that way....

“There’s a garage across the river that has an opening,” Lisa said. “Didn’t you tell me you rebuilt your car all by yourself?”

Dean’s response was a jumbled moan of _BobbyDadSammynoooo..._.

“Yeah,” said Dishon quietly. “I did. Dad... Dad was a mechanic. Before.” He sighed again. “I’m sorry, Lisa, it’s just... I’m still pretty raw, y’know?”

“I know,” Lisa nodded. “But I hate to see you sitting around the house doing nothing. You don’t have to tell me what happened until you’re ready, but... I need you to keep living, okay?”

Dishon gave Dean a hard mental nudge and nodded. “Yeah. Okay. Um. If... if you think they’d be okay with hiring a dead man....”

Lisa chuckled. “I’ll come up with something.”

Dean mentally blinked. _Did... did she just..._

“Okay,” Dishon agreed. “Thanks.”

Lisa smiled and got up to get the apple crumb cake she’d fixed for dessert.

_Wait, what are you...._

_Dean_ , thought Dishon calmly, _if you have a problem with this, then you need to take back control of your life. I have no intention of living it for you indefinitely. Unless, of course, you wish to leave this planet and join the Tok’ra...._

Dean sullenly turned away and went to sleep. Dishon sighed.

“What?” Lisa asked, setting a plate of cake in front of him.

Dishon shook his head. “Nothing.”

* * *

Lisa was as good as her word, and by the following Monday, Dean had the job. The garage specialized in custom engine restoration, however, so although Dishon could use Dean’s memories to do some of the work, he had to prod the man for help several times a day. By Wednesday, Dean had had enough and took back control for the rest of the workday.

By the end of the month, they had settled into an easier partnership, Dean keeping control at work and Dishon taking over at home. Dishon wouldn’t let Dean totally avoid interacting with others, though, especially Lisa and Ben, and once the grief had dulled to a constant ache that Dean could sometimes ignore, Dishon took control less and less often. Dean still carried his silver pocketknife and his flask of holy water, but he seemed to be settling into “normal” life tolerably well.

Lisa and Ben were a comfort as well. To Dishon, they were good friends, helping the Tok’ra and his host adjust to life after hunting, after the Apocalypse, after Sam. To Dean, they were loves—fragile, too delicate and tenuous even to name yet, but growing stronger as the days went by.

That didn’t stop Dean from humming bitter songs like the Monkees’ “Regional Girl” at least once a week. _Nobody understands_ , he finally informed Dishon one night as they lay staring at the ceiling. _Nobody gets it. Lisa tries, but... she wasn’t there. She doesn’t know._

 _I was there_, Dishon reminded him.

 _You’re not Sam_ , Dean retorted and pointedly went to sleep.

Dishon retaliated by letting him dream about the fall of Vorash.

And though summer came and went, Dean still couldn’t get through an entire day in control of his own body. That worried Dishon. So did the fact that though Castiel and Bobby still occasionally checked in with him—and Dishon made sure Dean was asleep when they did—neither of them had heard anything about Sam. Neither had Gabriel, Dishon learned the one time he dared to call Teal’c. Granted, the two angels had their hands full maintaining order in Heaven now that Michael was gone, but the lack of news was still disheartening. And Chuck wasn’t answering his phone.

 _Four months_ , Dean thought as he poured himself a glass of whiskey one night in early September, drinking more out of depressed habit than anything else. _Forty years in Hell time. I dunno whether to give up hope or assume we’ll hear from him any day now_.

 _It took your father far longer to escape Alastair and get to the Devil’s Gate_ , Dishon noted as Dean sat down at the dinner table. _Don’t give up hope yet_.

_Yeah. Guess you’re right. I just... I can’t do this, Dishon. I know I promised Sam, and Lisa and Ben are awesome, but... I can’t. Not without Sam._

“You okay?” Lisa asked as she brought the mashed potatoes to the table.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Dean lied, took a drink of whiskey, and started dishing up food for himself and Ben.

Suddenly the streetlight on the corner went out, but when Dean looked, he could just make out a familiar shaggy-haired figure standing hesitantly where the light ought to shine. Dean’s heart leapt. He excused himself from the table and raced outside with a shout of “Sam?!”

The figure didn’t move for a moment other than looking at him, giving Dean time to get close enough to see his face, that lost and broken puppy face that meant Sam didn’t know whether to make contact or leave Dean to his apple-pie life. He shivered once or twice as if the evening breeze were far colder than it was. Finally he started moving as if to leave.

“SAM!” both Dean and Dishon cried, and the resulting dual voice sounded almost like that of a Wraith.

“Dean....” The reply was little more than a whisper, but Sam did look back at him.

And then, while Dean was still five feet away from him, Sam’s eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, causing a transformer down the street to explode.

Dean and Dishon both panicked. Dean crashed to his knees at his brother’s side and felt for Sam’s pulse, which was strong but rapid, and his temperature, which was slightly elevated despite his earlier shivering. He then pricked Sam’s arm with his pocketknife, which caused neither a burning wound nor any other reaction from his unconscious brother. Washing the cut with holy water caused a peroxide-like sizzle, but nothing worse. When a couple of other attempts at waking either Sam or Salim failed, Dean lost it and screamed for Cas.

Cas, of course, came right away. “He made it,” the angel breathed in awe.

“We gotta get him to the SGC,” Dean stated, pulling Sam into his arms.

Cas nodded and reached for Dean’s forehead. A second later they were in the middle of the SGC infirmary, machines shorting out in all directions.

Dr. Lam charged in, but the curses died on her lips when she saw the cause of the commotion. “We need to get him into isolation,” she said urgently.

Cas stooped and took Sam from Dean. “Lead the way.”

Dean staggered to his feet and followed Cas and Lam to the isolation ward as someone from the infirmary paged General Landry. Dean barely heard Lam’s explanation of where they were going and why; he was still wrestling with the fact that Sam had made it back to him but might die before they could even say hello again. In fact, when she started asking questions about what happened, it was Dishon who answered for him.

By the time they reached the isolation room, Landry and Teal’c were in the adjoining observation room. Lam made Cas and Dean wait there as well once they got Sam situated on the bed. No one said much after Landry explained that Daniel and Carter were offworld and that Mitchell and Vala would be back in the morning, but Cas and Teal’c stood on either side of Dean as he watched Lam examine Sam, lending him silent support.

Lam had just finished taking a blood sample when Sam stirred. Cas teleported Dean into the other room immediately, and Dean grabbed Sam’s hand just before Sam’s eyes fluttered open.

“D’n?”

“I’m here, Sammy. I’m here.”

“S’lim’s n’ g’nn’ make it.”

Dean bit his lip and nodded. “’Kay. Can you let him say goodbye?”

Sam made a negative noise. “’Stoo weak. Sezza tell D’sh’n bye ’n’ love you.”

Dean let Dishon come forward, and the Tok’ra gingerly caressed Sam’s face with his free hand. “Farewell, dear brother,” he whispered. “Our people shall know of your valor. _Tak mal arik tiak_.”

Sam smiled weakly, then sighed. “’Sgone. ’Msorry.”

Dishon nodded but didn’t move his hand from Sam’s face. “I am glad you have returned, Sam. Dean was more than miserable without you.”

Sam frowned a little. “Di’n’ look....”

Dishon gave way to Dean. “Dammit, Sammy, you know me better than that.”

Sam snorted affectionately. “Yeah.” And his eyes fluttered closed again.

“He’ll pull through, Dean,” Lam said quietly. “His temperature’s a little high, and of course we need to find out what’s causing him to generate EMF, but his vitals are fine otherwise. Salim probably saved his life.”

Dean didn’t look away from Sam’s face or try to stop the tears from falling—apparently the ‘no chick flick moments’ rule had fallen into the cage with Sam and stayed there. “Can I stay with him?”

“Of course.” Lam brought him a stool and then left.

Cas gave Dean’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I will tell Lisa that you’re here.”

“Hospital,” Dean replied gruffly. “Just tell her we’re at a military hospital. She doesn’t have clearance.”

“Oh. Yes.” Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder again and left.

Then the torrent of sorrow and joy and relief of both man and symbiote overwhelmed Dean, and he buried his face in Sam’s shoulder and wept until, completely spent, he fell asleep on his brother’s pillow.

* * *

The moon had set, the power was still out, and Lisa was still outside searching for Dean in the darkness when Castiel returned to Cicero. He landed behind her and called her name; she jumped and gasped.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said immediately. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Castiel. I’m a friend of Dean’s.”

“Oh. Uh, Dean... Dean’s not here....”

“I know; he asked me to explain. His brother has returned. We had to take him to a military hospital—his condition is... classified.”

Lisa frowned. “I thought Dean said Sam was dead.”

At least this objection had an answer that was true, if not the whole truth. “Officially he was.”

Lisa nodded slowly, as if she knew that there was more to the story but that Castiel wasn’t going to give it to her. “Okay. Where did you say they are?”

“In a military hospital. I’m sorry, Lisa. I can’t tell you any more than that. And I’m not sure yet how long they’ll be there.”

“Am I allowed to go visit?”

“I don’t know. I’ll ask.”

“Okay. Tell Dean I’ll come if he needs me.”

“I will. Good night, Lisa.”

“Good night, Castiel.”

Castiel waited until she had turned to go back into the house before he took off for Sioux Falls and called for Gabriel to meet him there. Dean hadn’t asked for them, but he knew Bobby would want to see Sam as soon as possible, and he had a niggling feeling that he would need Gabriel’s help to get Sam on his feet again.

Sam might be out of Hell, but he wasn’t out of Lucifer’s clutches yet. And Castiel was not about to let his friends suffer anything that was within his power to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There really is a custom engine restoration shop in Cicero. I looked it up and thought it sounded perfect for Dean.
> 
> “The days of our years...” is Psalm 90:10 in the King James Version.
> 
>  _Tak mal arik tiak_ = You will not be forgotten (according to StargateWiki)


	4. On a Horse with No Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned what an awesome beta Ansostuff is? She helped me a _lot_ with the health care logistics and protocols in these chapters.

The slight pressure on Dean’s hand woke Dishon first the next morning, and he in turn woke Dean. But the human was still too exhausted to move, so the Tok’ra took control and lifted his head to see Sam smiling at him.

“Hey,” Sam whispered.

“Good morning,” Dishon replied in his own voice. “I believe your brother needs some coffee before he is awake enough to speak to you.”

Sam chuckled weakly. “Yeah. Could use some myself. It’s been a long time.”

He was still fumbling for the call button when Dr. Lam came in. She took Sam’s vital signs and another vial of blood before promising to have breakfast sent in right away. “Sounds like you both need some caffeine before I explain what I’ve found,” she observed with a twinkle and left.

“I’m so sorry, Dishon,” Sam sighed. “Salim kept me together. Until we got to Cicero, I really thought he’d make it.”

“You can tell me everything in due time,” Dishon said gently. “But what of Adam?”

“Got him out of the box. His body gave out about ten years from the gate. But I still got his soul out. Tessa met us at the top, took him back to Heaven.”

Dean woke up enough at that to take control. “You saw Tessa?”

“Mm.” Sam snorted. “Seems she’s assigned to our family now. Guess we keep her busy enough.”

“Dude—you’re not supposed to see Reapers unless they’re coming for _you_.”

Sam shrugged. “Side effect of whatever’s goin’ on with me, I guess.” He looked Dean in the eye then. “I’m not sure I’m quite human anymore, Dean.”

Dean didn’t flinch. “You’re _back_ , Sammy. That’s all I care about right now. Silver and holy water didn’t hurt you. And whatever else you might be, you are still my brother.”

Sam smiled and squeezed Dean’s hand. “Thanks.”

Breakfast arrived just then—pancakes and coffee for Dean, toast and tea for Sam—and the conversation turned to lighter topics until Lam returned and Landry and the Earth-side members of SG-1 filed into the observation room, Daniel having apparently come back sometime during the night.

“Good news first, Sam,” Lam began. “Your vital signs are stable, and it looks like your collapse last night was a combination of your exhaustion and Salim’s health failing. But he was able to prevent any toxins from being released into your bloodstream when he died. So in _that_ regard, you should be able to recover fairly quickly.

“The problem is with what else has shown up on your blood work. Your blood is still chock full of that demon blood protein, so much so that your body can barely process it. It seems to have triggered some genetic changes that would explain the EMF, and I’m concerned that it might be affecting your brain chemistry as well.”

“But you can’t tell that without a brain scan,” Sam noted. “And as long as I’m emitting EMF, you can’t do one.”

“Sam’s been in Hell for forty years,” Dean added. “Nobody’s ever done a brain scan on me, but I’m willing to bet you don’t come back from that with your brain workin’ quite the same.”

“That’s probably true,” Lam conceded. “Still, we should keep Sam under observation....”

“No,” the brothers chorused.

“Help him get the EMF under control,” Dean continued. “But you are _not_ gonna treat my brother like some alien bug you can study for the greater good of science or whatever.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Lam replied patiently. “But we need to make sure that he’s well and that he’s not a threat.”

“I’m a _hunter_ , Doc. Let me worry about whether or not he’s a threat.”

“Dr. Lam,” Landry’s voice interrupted, “may I speak to you for a moment?”

“Yes, sir,” Lam replied and walked out.

Dean watched her go. Only when he turned to nod his thanks to the general did he see the three additional figures that had appeared behind SG-1: Cas, Gabriel, and Bobby.

“Hey, Sammy. Look who’s here.”

Sam looked, and his breath caught. “But... Cas....”

“God brought ’im back—as an _archangel_. Gabe brought Bobby back.”

Sam swallowed thickly as tears filled his eyes. “Lucifer used... used to make me remember....”

Dean patted his shoulder. “It’s okay, dude. You’re out. You can tell me about it later.”

“Is everything sad going to come untrue?” Sam asked in a small voice, looking up at Dean with wide eyes that made him look all of five years old.

Dean’s heart sank, but he deliberately tried to keep his tone light. “I dunno. You been quotin’ _Lord of the Rings_ to yourself the whole time you’ve been down there, College Boy?”

Sam laughed—a shade hysterically, Dean thought—and looked away. “That, _The Chronicles of Narnia_ , _A Wrinkle in Time_ , _The Man Who Was Thursday_ , _Phantastes_ , _The Faerie Queen_ , Shakespeare, Milton, Jane Austen, Mark Twain... pretty much every book I ever read. And TV and movies. Think I even started singing Metallica after a while. I dunno how Salim managed to ignore me when he was driving.” He paused and looked Dean in the eye. “It wasn’t forty years, Dean. The time dilation increases the further in you go. I lost count after the first century.”

“Oh, _Sam_.”

Sam swallowed hard again and reached for the cup of water that was on his bedside tray, but his hand suddenly started shaking uncontrollably.

Dean quickly grabbed the cup and helped him drink. “Sammy?”

Sam’s breathing became labored as he swallowed. “Dean... I think....”

Dean shot a panicked look at the observation room, and Cas and Gabriel were at Sam’s bedside instantly. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and restraints appeared just as Sam’s back arched and a scream Dean had hoped never to hear again ripped from his brother’s throat. The lights in both the isolation room and the observation room exploded, and Dishon suspected that the intercom system had been fried as well.

“Stand back, Dean,” Cas ordered. “Watch the door.”

Dean got out of the way, and Cas placed a hand on Sam’s chest while Gabriel placed one across Sam’s forehead. Light poured from them both as they worked together to fight the withdrawal symptoms and purge the demonic toxins from Sam’s system. Sam didn’t stop screaming altogether, but at least it wasn’t as bad as the last time they’d had to let him detox in Bobby’s panic room.

Not thirty seconds later, Lam returned at a run with a case Dishon recognized as containing a Goa’uld healing device. Dean stopped her at the door. “They’ve got it, Doc,” he told her.

“I knew the protein was beginning to break down,” Lam replied, “but I didn’t think he’d go into withdrawal so _fast_. This is even worse than Wraith enzyme withdrawal.”

“They’ve got it,” Dean repeated, turning back to watch the struggle. “He’s had worse, trust me.”

 _That stuff has been in his system a hundred years or more_ , Dishon noted sadly as Sam sobbed and convulsed under the archangels’ hands.

 _Shut up , Dishon_, Dean snapped. _If Gabe and Cas can’t get him through this, that dinky healing device wouldn’t stand a chance._

_Dinky?!_

_Compared to the power of two archangels? Yeah, I’d say that’s dinky._

Dishon shut up.

Lam touched his arm. “Let’s wait this out in the observation room.”

Dean took a deep breath and let it out again. “Yeah. Okay.”

Bobby met Dean at the observation room door with a bear hug, and Dean allowed himself a brief sob into Bobby’s shoulder. “I know,” Bobby said softly, rubbing Dean’s back. “Lord knows I’m scared for him, too.”

“Missed you, Bobby,” Dean whispered.

“Missed you, too, son.”

Bobby broke the embrace, but Dean didn’t even have time to wipe his face before Vala pulled him into another hug. He suddenly realized how much he’d missed that odd sensation that bespoke naquadah in another’s blood, akin to the scars that only another hunter would recognize without explanation and simply nod in acknowledgment of shared experience. Nobody in Cicero could relate to either one.

Even so, he wished Lisa were there.

Vala didn’t say anything when she let him go. Neither did Daniel when he shook Dean’s hand. Landry simply nodded once. Mitchell shook hands with a nod and a “Winchester,” the sort of one-word greeting Dad used to use when meeting a fellow hunter on a job—brief, business-like, cordial enough for a comrade in arms but not distracting from the battle at hand.

Teal’c, on the other hand, grasped Dean’s forearm and rumbled, “Your brother is a mighty warrior, Dean Winchester. I believe that he will win this battle.”

Dean swallowed hard and nodded. “Thanks, T.”

This time it was Bobby who flanked Dean with Teal’c as he stood at the window to watch. No sooner had they taken their positions, however, than Gabriel uttered some Enochian expression of frustration and placed his free hand behind Sam’s neck. When he brought his hand out again, it held Salim’s lifeless form.

Which promptly twitched and squealed.

There was a collective gasp from all the non-hunters except Teal’c, and Lam ran off, yelling for someone to bring a symbiote tank. Teal’c simply gripped Dean’s shoulder, as if he could sense Dishon’s shock. But Dean had eyes only for Sam, and he prayed that Gabriel had been right about the dead Tok’ra’s presence hindering their efforts.

Sure enough, Sam’s convulsions began to subside, and by the time the symbiote tank arrived, the worst was over. Gabriel stepped away from the bed to give Salim to the medics, and Cas shifted enough for Sam to find Dean’s eyes and shoot him a weary but reassuring smile before he lost consciousness. Cas kept his hand in place a moment longer as he nodded to Dean. Then he patted Sam’s shoulder and stepped back. Gabriel snapped his fingers, and the restraints vanished and the lights came back on.

“He’s gonna be okay,” Bobby whispered, patting Dean’s shoulder as they watched Lam check Sam over.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “They both are.” Then he turned to Teal’c. “Will I be able to talk to Salim when he’s in that tank?”

Teal’c tilted his head as he thought. “I am unsure. However, I believe the Tok’ra High Council will wish to find a new host as quickly as possible. You and Dishon will certainly be able to communicate with him once he has blended again.”

Suddenly a klaxon sounded, followed by a voice calling a medical team to the Gateroom. Landry and Mitchell took off at a run. Lam gave the medics in the isolation room a few quick instructions on Sam’s care and ran to the infirmary.

Vala, on the other hand, was still staring dazedly at the scene in the isolation room. “I’ve never seen anyone do that without a sarcophagus before,” she finally stated.

Dean snorted in amusement. “Winchesters don’t stay dead, Vala. Not on the first death, anyway.”

Vala turned her incredulous stare on him. “Really?”

“Unfortunately,” Bobby confirmed. “I dunno about these boys’ mama—”

“She was a Campbell first,” Dean interjected. “The Campbells don’t count.”

“—but I know for a fact that the Winchester men hold some sort of world record for number of non-permanent deaths. Hell, they even got _me_ killed back in May, and I’m not even blood kin.”

Before Vala could respond to that with more than a blink, Gabriel caught Dean’s eye and motioned for him to come back into the isolation room. Dean nodded and excused himself.

 _Should I be worried?_ Dishon asked as Dean stepped into the hall.

 _Nah_ , Dean deadpanned. _Just remember not to die in the middle of nowhere without clearing it with Cas first._

Dishon hadn’t laughed so hard in months.

The medics had taken yet another blood sample and put Sam on an IV drip by the time Dean resumed his place at his brother’s bedside; Sam was pale and sweaty and too still for Dean’s comfort, but his pulse was closer to normal, as was his temperature. They had also taken Salim’s tank to the infirmary proper. Cas and Gabriel both looked mildly exhausted, and Dean couldn’t help wondering to himself exactly how much power it had taken to get Sam through the withdrawal.

“It wasn’t just withdrawal, Dean,” Gabriel said as if Dean had spoken, pulling over a chair and sitting down. “Luci did more damage than even the SGC’s machines could detect. I mean, quantum-level damage. Way more than Salim could ever have repaired on his own. And once Salim’s body started to break down....” He shrugged, not needing to finish the sentence.

“Lucifer probably did not expect your brother to survive long enough to escape,” Cas added. “Sam may not be able to tell us how he got away, but I suspect Lucifer thought Salim would not be able to sustain him.”

It was Dishon who responded to that with a long, complicated, and very nasty Tok’ra curse. Gabriel looked rather impressed by the time Dishon handed control back to Dean.

Dean cleared his throat and pointed to his temple. “What he said.”

Cas snorted softly in gentle amusement and sat down on the other side of Dean, and Gabriel conjured himself a footstool. Together, the conscious occupants of the room settled in to wait for news, as did Bobby, Teal’c, Daniel, and Vala in the observation room.

They’d been waiting about half an hour when another woman came in and introduced herself as Dr. Sarah Brightman. “Sam’s blood work came back fairly close to normal—well, normal for him,” she reported. “There may be some lingering autoimmune problems as a result of the prolonged exposure to both the symbiote and the demon blood protein, and the genetic changes appear to be permanent. But otherwise, it looks like he’ll make a full recovery.”

Dean ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Autoimmune. Can... can you treat that?”

“Oh, yes. We’ll run specific tests tomorrow to figure out exactly which medication he needs, but most autoimmune disorders in adults can be controlled even if they can’t be cured. And we’ve got more resources than even most pharmacies on Earth.”

Dean sighed in relief. “Thanks, Doc.”

And then, to everyone’s great surprise, Lam paged _Dean_ to come to the infirmary.

Dean suddenly realized he had no idea which way to go. “Uh, Doc?”

“Follow me,” Brightman said kindly, and he did so.

Lam looked harried when they arrived. “Oh, Dean. Thank you. We need Dishon.”

Dean frowned, but Dishon nudged him and came forward. “I am at your service, Dr. Lam.”

“SG-25 ran into some serious trouble on their mission—ambush by the Lucian Alliance. Not only was there a firefight in which they were all badly wounded, but Dr. Adamson and Cpl. Brzinsky were exposed to potentially lethal doses of radiation when their naquadah generator was damaged. We’ve run them through the decontamination process, but it won’t be enough. They’ll die unless you and Salim can heal them.”

Dishon frowned. “Would not the angels be better able to heal such injuries?”

Lam grimaced. “Possibly, but I’d rather work with methods I know. Besides, the Tok’ra High Council will want new hosts for you soon anyway, and it’d be easier on all of us if the Winchesters didn’t have to go offworld for it.”

 _Oh ye of little faith_ , Dean thought, fully aware of the irony.

 _She’s right, though, Dean_ , Dishon replied. _Unless the High Council has hosts waiting for us, which isn’t likely, we will need to return to our homeworld to wait for them. There is no longer a valid reason for us to remain here. Sam won’t be fit for Gate travel any time soon, and I know you don’t wish to leave him._

Dean sighed inwardly. He’d known all along that the blending was meant to be temporary, but he’d always hated goodbyes, and he’d really gotten used to having Dishon for a friend. Still, if they could save a couple of lives this way....

“Let me speak to them,” said Dishon.

Lam led the way into the main room of the infirmary, past the beds where the un-poisoned members of SG-25 were resting after having their wounds bandaged, and to the curtained-off corner where Adamson and Brzinsky were waiting, as was Salim in his tank. Brzinsky looked like a typical Jarhead, but Adamson... Dean wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but it certainly wasn’t the raven-haired, grey-eyed woman whose alarmingly pale face greeted him when he stepped behind the curtain.

 _Dibs_ , was all he could think, and Dishon chuckled inwardly.

Lam stood between the two beds. “Mary, Peter, this is the Tok’ra Dishon. His host is Dean Winchester.”

“Hi,” Adamson said with a weak smile.

“Winchester,” Brzinsky nodded. “Heard about your brother. Took guts.”

Dishon nodded. “Indeed. It’s a relief to have him back among the living.”

Brzinsky motioned toward the tank. “That his snake?”

“That is my brother Salim, yes.”

Brzinsky nodded again. “I’ll take him.”

“You are willing to become hosts, then? You should know that we have no way of knowing how long it will take for the Tok’ra High Council to find us permanent hosts.”

“We’re dyin’, Dishon. Not much choice.”

Adamson nodded, though she looked like she was about to cry.

“Very well. Dean?”

“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Dean asked worriedly when he came forward. “Me and Sam, we’ve got some really bad memories. Some pretty weird ones, too.”

“I can live with weird,” Brzinsky shrugged. “And Earth’s got nothing left for me anyway.”

“It’s my only option,” whispered Adamson. “I don’t wanna die.”

Dean nodded. “Okay, then.”

Brzinsky went first, accepting Salim from the medic who’d pulled the symbiote out of its tank and letting Salim jump from his hand into his open mouth. Adamson shuddered involuntarily. Brzinsky’s face was fixed in a vacant stare for a few seconds while Salim took hold; then he blinked and looked up at Dean.

“ _Dean_ ,” breathed Salim’s new voice. “We feared we’d never see you again.”

“Hey, Salim,” Dean returned, patting the Tok’ra’s shoulder. “Fix your new host first. Come talk to Sammy and me before you leave.”

Salim nodded and closed his eyes.

“Does it have to work like that?” Adamson fretted.

“Not for you,” Dean replied. “Unless you object to me kissing you?”

Adamson managed to blush—no mean feat for someone so pale with pain and blood loss—and shook her head.

“Good, ’cause kissing’s one thing I am very good at.”

Adamson actually giggled.

“We’ll do this nice and easy, let you relax into it.”

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and leaned forward to kiss the injured scientist. The kiss began gentle and closed-mouthed, but Dean slowly prompted Adamson to deepen the kiss and open her mouth. Dishon waited until they were both on the point of enjoying themselves too much before he jumped; Dean waited to pull away until he felt all of Dishon’s tail leave his mouth. Adamson’s shocked expression quickly gave way to an eerie echo of Dean’s own smirk.

“Killjoy,” Dean grumbled.

Dishon snickered. “Mary is both pleased and disappointed to learn of your attachment to Lisa.”

Dean chuckled. “Remember, I owe you both a kiss goodbye. So does Sam.”

Dishon’s eyes took on a teasing sparkle. “I’ll have to study the mind of the Tau’ri female, then, to appreciate you both properly.”

They both laughed at that, and Dean left.

He had barely gotten to the hallway before a pang of loneliness hit. It was weird to be alone in his head again, almost as weird as it had been to have another consciousness in his brain once he’d had the time to think about it. At least Dishon was just leaving, not dead, but still... he’d really miss the little dude.

Even so, he realized as he got back to the isolation room, the one companion who had always mattered most had finally come back to him. And they were going to be okay. Dishon was awesome, but he wasn’t Sam.

He could live without a lot of things as long as he had Sam.


	5. I’ll Be Back Up On My Feet

“Serious but stable,” Dean told Lisa when he called from the observation room that evening. “Doc thinks he’ll make a full recovery, but it’s gonna be a few days before he’s released. He’s still in ICU,” he lied, “probably will be for another day or two. He’s been in and out of consciousness all day.” Not always completely lucid, to be sure—the autoimmune stuff seemed to be acting up now that Sam’s system was registering that both Salim and the demon blood were gone, and he was running a fever—but he seemed to think more clearly when Dean was beside him, and even semi-conscious was better than comatose.

“Where are you?” Lisa asked. “We can fly out tomorrow.”

Dean wavered for a moment, suddenly unsure of himself without Dishon for backup, but both Gabriel and Cas were apparently eavesdropping and nodded their encouragement at the same time, so he nodded back. “We’re in Colorado Springs, at the Air Force Academy Hospital.”

“Okay. Let me get to the computer—”

“Lisa, wait. They’re not gonna let you in to see Sam until he’s out of ICU. So... why don’t you wait and come out after Ben gets out of school on Friday? He won’t have to miss as many classes that way.”

“Why can’t we see Sam in ICU?”

“Like Cas said, this... whatever’s goin’ on with him, it’s classified. Like, beyond Area 51 classified. It’s not contagious or anything, but we need to make sure he’s really out of danger before anyone else can see him.”

Lisa sighed. “Okay.” The next few moments were filled only by the sound of her typing.

“I can rent us a car, meet her in Denver,” Bobby said quietly.

“I can’t get a direct flight to Colorado Springs,” Lisa said a few seconds later.

“Bobby says he can meet you in Denver,” Dean replied. “It’s only, what, an hour from here? Be faster to drive down than to have a lay-over.”

“Okay.” More typing. “Okay, I found a flight. What hotel?”

Dean cursed inwardly. “Um, we’re still at the hospital right now, but... I’ll... make the reservation for you when we book our room.”

“Oh, just get a suite, if the others don’t mind. Ben and I can share the couch.”

 _Yeah, but will you mind  them?_ “I’ll let you know what we get when we find a place.”

“Okay.”

“Dean,” Cas said before the conversation could continue. “Sam’s awake.”

Dean turned to the window and saw that Sam was indeed beginning to stir. “Sam’s wakin’ up. I’ll let you go.”

“Okay. Love you, Dean.”

That threw him. “L-love you, too, sweetheart.”

Dean half expected _someone_ to tease him for his fumbled farewell as he put his cell phone away—it’s not like he’d had much experience _having_ a significant other, never mind talking to her on the phone!—but neither of the angels said anything, and Bobby only said gently, “Better get in there, son. Sam needs you.”

“Right.” Dean huffed to cover his embarrassment and hurried into the isolation room.

Sam blinked blearily at him as he sat down. “Dean?”

“Sorry. Had to call Lisa. How are you feelin’?”

“Pretty weak,” Sam admitted, his voice still hoarse from screaming during the withdrawal. “Joints hurt. Kinda feverish.”

“Yeah, Dr. Lam thinks you’ve got some autoimmune somethin’, maybe lupus.”

Sam snorted. “It’s never lupus.”

“I thought you didn’t watch _Dr. Sexy_.”

“That’s _House_ , Dean.”

“Right. I knew that.” He hadn’t, actually—neither he nor Lisa ever watched _House_. The Winchesters hadn’t had much time for prime-time drama for the last two years, but now Mondays were for _Antiques Roadshow_ and _History Detectives_ and Ben getting a kick out of Dean’s color commentary from a hunter’s perspective. And the occasional _non sequitur_ from Dishon, but usually only for things Dean had never seen before, so it wasn’t like Dean would have come up with anything better. Made Ben laugh, anyway.

“How’s Lisa?” Sam asked as he fumbled for the button that would raise the head of the bed. The remote had somehow fallen through the railing and was dangling just beyond easy reach, and Dean knew from long experience that Sam wouldn’t want Dean to hand it to him.

“Fine. They’re gonna fly out here this weekend.”

“Great. ’M glad.” Sam winced as pain flared from somewhere and cursed under his breath. Then he settled back against his pillow with a sigh and put both hands on his stomach. “I’m sorry, Dean... I’m gonna have to do this the easy way.”

“What do you mean?”

And the bed adjusted itself.

“... Nice,” was all Dean could manage.

Sam chuckled wryly. “Think I pressed the call button, too.”

Sure enough, a few moments later, a nurse entered the room. “Yes, Mr. Winchester? What can I do for you?”

“Could I get a stronger anti-inflammatory? I’m hurtin’ pretty bad.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she said with a nod and left.

“Thought you said you couldn’t control it,” Dean said with a puzzled frown.

Sam snorted. “That was over a hundred years ago, Dean.”

Well, there was that....

“And Salim helped. It took some getting used to, for both of us, but... well, not everything Downstairs was spectral. And Adam couldn’t really protect himself.”

“Was it....” Dean paused, unsure how to continue the question.

Sam shrugged a little. “It was Hell.”

And didn’t that just say it all.

Dean sighed and gently patted Sam’s shoulder, and they were silent until the nurse came back with an unpronounceably-named heavy-duty pain reliever that she added to Sam’s IV drip. “If he starts feeling nauseated, let us know,” she told Dean.

“Will do,” Dean nodded.

As the nurse left, Dean looked back at Sam in time to catch him studying Dean with a puzzled frown.

“Dude. I got something in my teeth? What?”

“Where’s Dishon?”

The question startled Dean until he remembered the faint shift in Sam’s... aura, for lack of a better word, that he and Dishon had sensed when Salim died; Sam now felt more like Carter, Vala, and other _former_ hosts than he had when Salim was alive and in place. Hoping Sam’s question was the result of a corresponding shift in Dean’s aura and not the first sign of yet another freaky power that they hadn’t discussed yet, Dean cleared his throat and explained about SG-25. He then described the Tok’ra’s new hosts: “And that Dr. Adamson, man... she’s a babe. Looks kinda like what I always expected Guinevere to look like.”

Sam blinked. “When have you ever read Malory?”

“I haven’t. It was _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_. Brit lit, Fall ’97, that time we were in Odessa.”

“You actually liked _Sir Gawain and the Green Knight_?”

“Yeah! I mean, Green Man, hot chick, Morgan le Fay—what’s not to like?”

Sam laughed quietly. “Wonder if Dad ever killed a Green Man.”

“I don’t think so. Guess we could ask Bobby.”

Sam chuckled again and blinked sleepily. “You don’t have to wait in here,” he observed. “’Snot like I’m goin’ anywhere.”

Dean snorted. “Dude, I just spent four months thinkin’ I might never see you again. I’m staying right here.”

Sam smiled a little, and Dean felt a telekinetic squeeze on his shoulder. And then, as Sam’s eyelids slid shut again, he mumbled, “I wonder if I’ll ever be able to wear a digital watch again.”

Dean only just managed not to laugh. Leave it to Sammy to worry about his EMF affecting his gadgets at a time like this.

* * *

Dean didn’t realize he’d dozed off (somewhere around 3 in the morning) until he woke up a few hours later in the observation room, stretched out across two chairs and covered with Cas’ coat. Gabriel was in one corner of the room, playing gin with Teal’c and Vala, and Cas was standing at the window, watching something in the other room.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean said. “What’s goin’ on?”

“Dr. Lam has been taking blood samples from Sam,” Cas reported, sounding distinctly displeased.

Dean sat up. “If you think it’s wrong, why didn’t you stop her?”

“Because I don’t know whether we will be able to heal the problems that remain, and she couldn’t get close enough with a scanner to avoid the need for blood tests.”

Vala frowned. “But you brought Salim back to life. Why can’t you heal Sam?”

“Believe it or not,” Gabriel replied, “death is easier to reverse than some of the things Lucifer did to Sam. And while I did impersonate a god for a while, I’m not omnipotent. Neither is Castiel. Some healings just take time.”

Bobby returned then with a breakfast tray in each hand. “Mornin’,” he rumbled, carefully handing one to Dean so as not to spill the coffee.

“Mornin’,” Dean returned. “Thanks, Bobby.”

Dean ate quickly in silence while he waited for Lam to finish examining Sam. Then Sam woke up enough to have Lam help him to the bathroom and came out wearing scrubs, but the excursion tired him to the point that a nurse had to get a wheelchair to get him back to bed. Dean could see that he was asleep again almost before his head hit the pillow.

It was shaping up to be a long day, Dean thought as he drained his coffee cup.

Just then Adamson walked in, once more the picture of perfect health. But Dean could tell from the smile on her lips that Dishon was driving—it looked all too familiar.

“Hey, dude,” he nodded.

Dishon chuckled. “Good morning, Dean. Mary is still resting, but the blending has had the desired effect. She is whole once more.”

“Glad to hear it. How’s Salim?”

“Well. We have not spoken much, but Gen. Landry has requested our presence at several briefings this morning, including the Atlantis check-in. I am sure he will have much to tell us then. The general has also asked me to tell you that you and Sam need not be present. We have all the information he will need, and he knows you wish to stay with Sam as much as possible today.”

Dean nodded. “Thanks.”

“We will be returning to our homeworld this afternoon. The Tok’ra High Council is anxious to hear what we have learned.” Dishon paused, looking slightly embarrassed. “We ought also to return the equipment we brought with us upon our arrival.”

“Oh, it’s in the trunk—” Dean broke off, suddenly remembering that they hadn’t driven to Cheyenne Mountain.

“I’ll get it,” Cas said flatly and vanished. Seconds later he returned with both satchels in hand. “I left the car in the parking lot,” he told Dean as he handed the bags to Dishon.

“Why?”

“Beats flyin’ home, don’t it?” Bobby drawled.

And that was another point Dean had forgotten. He sighed. “Cas, you’re awesome.”

Cas nearly smiled.

“Hey, Dishon,” Gabriel called, “care to sit in?”

“No, thank you, Gabriel,” Dishon replied. “The general is expecting me. But we will try to come back before we leave to say our farewells to you all, especially Sam.”

“Good to see you again, Dishon,” Bobby nodded, raising his coffee cup in salute.

Dishon smiled. “You too, Bobby. Castiel, Gabriel.”

Cas nodded and Gabriel waved, and Dishon left.

“I wonder how many people will wander through here today,” Vala said to the room at large. “I’m sure word’s all over the base by now.”

“Indeed,” said Teal’c.

Dean and Bobby exchanged a worried look. Without turning his attention away from the game, Gabriel snapped his fingers, and a podium with a guestbook appeared next to the observation room door.

Yep, it was shaping up to be one of _those_ days.

* * *

Vala had been correct. People were in and out of the observation room all day, most of them simply wanting to see for themselves that Sam was in fact alive and to pay their respects to Dean; and the intercom between the rooms was still busted, which meant that Dean spent far more time in the observation room than in the isolation room, though he sat with Sam as much as he could. Lam decided to take no chances and posted a guard at the door to the isolation room with a specific and very short list of people who were allowed to speak to Sam, mainly people like Daniel and Mitchell who knew Sam personally and might be offworld when he was released from isolation. None of them stayed long for fear of wearing Sam out, and Sam was usually glad for the visit.

When Adamson and Brzinsky walked into the isolation room that afternoon, however, Sam yelped, and they found themselves telekinetically pinned to the wall.

“Whoa! Dude!” Dean cried, grabbing Sam’s shoulders for lack of a better way to calm him down.

“Dean—silver—get—they’re sh-sh...” Sam stuttered and stopped as he finally made eye contact with Brzinsky. “... Salim?”

Brzinsky’s head bobbed. “Hello, Sam,” Salim replied gently.

With a quiet curse, Sam sagged back against his pillow and released the two Tok’ra. “Sorry, guys. I’m... I’m not used to you lookin’ like us.”

Dean frowned. “You can _see_ Dishon and Salim?”

Sam nodded wearily.

“He no longer has precognitive visions,” Salim explained as they approached the bed, “but he is able to see spirits that would otherwise be invisible to the human eye. I believe it may be a result of our having to train his physical eyes to see incorporeal attackers as we made our escape.”

“’S how I knew Dishon was gone,” Sam added. “With them, it’s like this weird sort of double vision... I can see the hosts, but I can see the Tok’ra, too. And they look a lot more like us now than they used to.”

“Can you see demons, too?”

Sam shrugged. “Probably. Haven’t run into any since I’ve been topside.”

“And you conveniently forgot how to tell the difference between a former host and a current host _without_ looking.”

Sam blushed.

“To be fair,” Salim noted, “that is not information we used very often after Muncie. The two of you have always been able to sense each other to some degree, and after Detroit... well.”

Dean and Adamson sighed at the same time. Dean raised an eyebrow at that, which made Adamson blush and smile sheepishly.

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “Dishon, dude, you’re a bad influence.”

Adamson’s head bobbed, and Dishon replied, “That can hardly be helped, considering how long I’ve spent with _you_.”

Dean mock-glared at her, and Sam and Salim laughed quietly.

“Hey, how’d those meetings go?”

“Well enough,” Dishon shrugged. “But it was as well you were not there. The IOA representatives who were present at one briefing were most tiresome. In fact, they made Ben’s coach seem pleasant,” she grimaced, referring to one particularly disastrous barbeque the Braedens had convinced Dean to attend with them, during which Ben’s soccer coach had gotten drunk and started mouthing off about the April swine flu scare being some kind of government conspiracy. Dishon had taken over before Dean could pound the coach into the ground, made a cutting remark about freedom of speech, and took Ben and Lisa home.

“I think I preferred Muncie,” Salim deadpanned.

Sam groaned. “Dude, don’t even.”

They fell silent for a moment.

Finally, Sam sighed and looked down at his hands. “I’m... not good at this, y’know. Saying goodbye.”

Dean patted his shoulder. He could understand—it was hard enough for him to say goodbye to Dishon after only five months, but Sam and Salim had been blended for over a century.

“We need not speak of it overmuch,” Dishon replied. “But I will say that I am glad to have known you both and that I fully intend to keep in touch with you as best I can.”

“As do I,” Salim nodded. “And I assure you, we will preserve the memory of what you have done for the Tau’ri—and for the rest of the galaxy as well. I did not see much of Lucifer’s mind, but I do believe he would have destroyed every human world he could if he had won, and he would not have spared the Tok’ra.”

“You’re right, he wouldn’t,” Sam agreed. “He wouldn’t have stopped with Pegasus, either, if he’d found a way to dial other galaxies’ Gate systems. Before Lawrence, he was gloating that I’d given him the keys to the galaxy, maybe even the universe. I don’t know what he would have done, but... I’m glad we won’t find out.”

“ _We_ still might,” Salim noted. “But Dishon and I now know everything you know about the powers of Hell and how to defend against them. I am sure the Tok’ra High Council will wish not only to preserve this information, but to share it with our allies should the need arise.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” said Dean. “At least not in our lifetime.”

“And may that lifetime be long indeed,” Dishon responded with a smile.

There being nothing more to say, Salim hugged Sam and Dean farewell, and Dishon gave them each a kiss on both cheeks. And then the Tok’ra left.

Once they were alone again, Dean sighed and looked at Sam, who sighed and looked away.

“Sammy....”

“I know, Dean. I panicked, okay? I really thought they were shapeshifters.”

“I’m not mad, dude. Honest. Dr. Lam thinks the EMF is linked to these genetic changes she found, which probably means your powers are, too. We still need to talk about this.”

Sam sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “Okay.”

“So you’re full-on telekinetic, and you can see souls. What else?”

“Think I’m still tuned in to Wraith Radio. It was weird... when Atlantis dialed in earlier, I could sense Todd through the Gate. Think I could kinda sense Teyla, too. Couldn’t talk, just... knew they were there. Knew Atlantis was there, too, somehow.”

“But no visions?”

Sam shook his head. “No, no visions. At least, not that we know of. And I can’t teleport or anything really crazy. But, um... I can still....” He gestured vaguely with his right hand, and Dean understood the unspoken _kill demons_ and nodded. “And apparently I’m pyrokinetic, too.”

“Pyro-who?”

Sam glanced at the paper napkin on his bedside table, and it went up in a brief burst of flame.

“Huh. That’s useful.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah. Guess it could be dangerous, too, but... I’ve had a lot of practice controlling it. I’m not gonna, like, randomly burn down the house if I freak. Not unless I’m completely cracked, anyway.”

“Damn, Sam—what do you mean, ‘a lot of practice’?”

Sam shrugged. “Sometimes you gotta fight fire with fire.”

Dean didn’t think he needed elaboration on _that_ point, even if Sam were able and inclined to give it. His imagination and his memories were both vivid enough to fill in the blanks.

“Makes short work of a corpse, though,” Sam continued. “I, um... burned Adam. Again. Made sure the demons couldn’t use his remains to tie him there. Or for anything else.”

“Good thinking.”

Dean’s mind was whirling. It didn’t exactly bother him to see Sam manifesting powers like that; he’d gotten used to the visions and all the rest of it years ago, and knowing both that Sam was doing it without the influence of demon blood and that Lam had found a possible genetic link helped Dean not to feel like Sam was in danger of going darkside again. But he had half hoped that they might be able to re-establish some ties of friendship, if nothing else, with the hunting community now that the Apocalypse was over and Sam was topside again. And maybe if Sam were only telekinetic, they could have. Most of the hunters they’d known through the years hadn’t had a problem with people who were only psychic.

This firestarter thing? Given their history? _That_ could get Sam killed in a hurry.

Sam nudged Dean’s leg. “Hey. Earth to Winchester.”

“Winchester, go ahead,” Dean replied without thinking.

Sam’s uproarious laughter snapped Dean out of his reverie and made him grin sheepishly ( _oh_ , he’d missed that sound!) until Sam started clutching his ribs and gasping, “Ow... don’t... chest hurts....”

“Sorry, dude—wasn’t _that_ funny.”

“Ow,” Sam wheezed again.

“Hey, how’d you get to Cicero? That’s, like, five hundred miles from Lawrence.”

“Hitched,” Sam replied once he caught his breath. “But we got out in Detroit. ’M not sure _how_ , exactly, but the crack I found... I dunno, guess it was left by the rings when you opened the cage the first time. Didn’t look like too many demons knew it was there.”

“Guess we should see if Cas can seal it. Not like Detroit needs more trouble.”

“Mm.” Sam sighed, and his eyelids began to droop once more.

Dean patted his shoulder. “Get some rest, dude. I’ll tell Lam no more visitors today.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam murmured and drifted off.

* * *

A predisone burst, Lam prescribed when she came back with the results that evening, but probably only the one to stop Sam’s immune system from going haywire and hopefully also bring the EMF under control, and then some drug called Plaquenil and lots of calcium and Vitamin D for the rest of his life, and with any luck Sam would die of old age and not lupus.

All things considered, Dean thought as Sam started drifting off again, even full-on lupus wouldn’t be so bad. For the first time in his life, he could actually contemplate Sammy dying of natural causes a long way down the road ( _When I get older, losing my hair, many years from now_ ), though the disease was the result of something so far beyond natural it didn’t even belong in the same dimension. Lupus was even something they could treat with Earth meds. And it was a small price to pay for stopping the Apocalypse.

Gabriel objected to the prednisone, however, and smacked Sam a little too hard on the chest in the process of administering another burst of healing power.

“Ow,” said Sam, rubbing at his breastbone without opening his eyes.

“Does it still hurt?” Gabriel asked.

“Only where you _hit_ me.”

Gabriel looked contrite and brushed Sam’s hair back from his forehead, and Sam relaxed into sleep. Lam shook her head and drew more blood samples before she left.

“There’s still some damage to the ol’ grey cells,” Gabriel said quietly, his hand still resting on the top of Sam’s head. “I don’t know how much I can do—Mike and Raphael were always the healers—and I don’t know if it’s all physical or if dulling his memories will help, but....”

Dean nodded. “Do what you can. I probably shouldn’t, but for once I actually trust you.”

Gabriel quirked a small smile and nodded at the door. “Get some sleep, Dean.” Then he closed his eyes and seemed to focus his attention on whatever was going on inside Sam’s head.

Vala met Dean at the observation room door and announced that she’d taken the liberty of preparing guest quarters for him and Bobby. “Castiel says he’s going to keep watch,” she added over her shoulder, a trifle disparagingly—and got no reaction from Cas, much to Dean’s amusement.

 _It’s okay, Dean_ , he suddenly recalled his mother saying. _Angels are watching over you._

For once, he both knew it was true and knew that the angels in question were doing it out of genuine concern, not any ulterior motive. And suddenly a good deal more of the weight he’d been carrying for the last two years slid off his shoulders.

“Thanks, Vala,” he smiled. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Next morning, once Sam was able to demonstrate that his powers and emotions were under control and a scanner showed that his EMF was just slightly above that of the average cell phone, Lam declared him stable enough to move out of the isolation room. Dean took her aside. “Hey, Doc, um... my girlfriend and her son are coming into town, and I told them Sam was at the Academy Hospital.”

Lam frowned. “That’s not usually reason enough for me to move someone.”

“I know. But... he’s been in Hell a long time. It would help him a lot to have a window, not be underground anymore.”

Lam’s face cleared. “Oh, of course. I hadn’t thought of that. Yes, I’ll see if they have a room for him. Wait here.”

“What’s up?” Sam asked as Dean walked back to his bedside.

“Gonna try to get you a room with a view, dude,” Dean replied and sat down.

Sam smiled. “Thanks, man. It’s been....” He trailed off, shaking his head when he failed to remember what he’d been trying to say. “I don’t think I’ve seen the sun since I’ve been back, anyway. Did... did something happen last night?”

Dean chose not to make the obvious joke and went with a serious answer. “Gabe mojoed your brain. Didn’t erase your memories, just... kinda blurred them.”

“Huh.” Sam looked at the ceiling, frowning slightly in concentration. “Yeah, I see what you mean. I remember, sort of, but... it’s fuzzy. I’d need one of those Tok’ra recall thingies to give you any specifics.”

“You don’t have to,” Dean said, resting a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’ve been there.”

Sam reached up and gave Dean’s wrist a grateful squeeze.

“Your joints doin’ any better today? You don’t look as feverish.”

“Yeah, they are. I’m still achy, but it doesn’t hurt to breathe like it did yesterday.”

“Lam says they’ve gotta check your eyes before they can put you on the Plaquenil. But I think she’s planning to start you on the Vitamin D today regardless.”

Sam nodded and drifted off until Lam returned with the news that the Academy Hospital did have a private room with a south-facing window that got plenty of sun. Dean thanked her, and they set about getting Sam ready for transport.

* * *

Lisa wasn’t sure what she expected to see on arriving at Sam’s room. A Marine MP on guard outside the door asking for ID definitely wasn’t on the list, though. Granted, Bobby had warned her on the way down from Denver (in Dean’s Impala, which she hadn’t even realized was missing from the garage), and he’d even graciously offered to take Ben sightseeing while Lisa was at the hospital, but actually _seeing_ the guard took her aback slightly.

She also wasn’t expecting to walk in and see a colonel and a three-star general, both in their dress blues, standing at the foot of Sam’s bed. Yet Dean was kicked back in a chair beside the bed as if these clearly important people were no more than old friends, which... somehow didn’t surprise Lisa at all.

“Hey, babe,” Dean said when he spotted her. “General, Colonel, this is my girlfriend, Lisa Braeden. Lisa, Gen. O’Neill, Col. Carter; they’re with the deep space telemetry project the Air Force runs out of Cheyenne Mountain. We met on a hunt a few months back.”

Before Lisa could wonder what kind of hunt would involve deep space telemetry, Col. Carter was shaking her hand. “Your boyfriend’s been a big help to us,” said the blonde woman, “and so has his brother. It’s been a pleasure to work with them.”

“Thanks,” Lisa replied for lack of a better response. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to interrupt....”

“We were just leaving,” Gen. O’Neill assured her. “Good to meet you, Ms. Braeden. Sam, Dean.”

“General,” the brothers nodded together, and the officers left.

After an awkward pause, Lisa cleared her throat and asked, “So, Sam, where have you been this summer?”

“Most of it’s classified,” Sam replied carefully, “but... well, I guess you could say I was a prisoner of war. I managed to escape, but I was in pretty rough shape by the time I got back to the States. Didn’t even realize how bad it was until I passed out in your front yard.”

“He’s doin’ a lot better now, though,” Dean continued. “We... called in some favors Upstairs. Doc says he may be well enough to leave by Monday. I figure you and Ben can fly back while I drive Sammy; I don’t expect he’ll be up to flying for a while.”

“Last plane we were on crashed, didn’t it?”

Dean shuddered. “Don’t remind me.”

Sam smiled wryly. “Probably not a good idea anyway, considering... well, considering.”

Lisa decided she didn’t want to know. “And what are your plans now?”

Sam looked at Dean, who said, “I was... hoping he could stay with us for a while.” At Lisa’s raised eyebrow, Dean added, “He really doesn’t have anyplace else to go except Bobby’s, and with everything he’s been through, I really don’t want him that far away.”

“I’ll get my own place as soon as I can,” Sam promised quickly. “I’ll get a job at a bar or something. I just... I don’t think I can go back to hunting. Not yet.”

“Please, Lisa,” Dean pleaded. “I know the last four months have been kinda rough for us, what with me tryin’ to adjust to a normal life and all, but Sam’s back now. We can make it work, I swear.”

Lisa studied Dean’s face for a moment, recognizing a spark in his eyes that had been missing while Sam was gone as well as fear that he was about to lose her. Finally, she sighed. “If you’re sure that peace and quiet in suburbia is what you want.”

“Yes,” the brothers chorused.

Lisa nodded. “Okay, then.”

Dean visibly relaxed and looked happier than she’d seen him since he left the first time. “Thanks, sweetheart,” he whispered before kissing her soundly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The “unpronounceably-named” pain reliever I had in mind is some NSAID on the order of indomethacin—stronger than naproxen, but not one of the big guns that could mess with the upcoming blood tests. As for the limitations on Gabriel and Cas’ healing powers, that’s partly a response to what we see in SPN’s canon (Season 4 Cas, for example, has no problem raising the dead but says he can’t heal Dean in “On the Head of a Pin”), partly a result of their not being primarily healers in the first place, and partly an acknowledgment of the fact that, at least in my RL experience, divine healing isn’t always instantaneous and can in fact come through increased effectiveness of human medicine. Raphael is usually considered the archangel of healing due to his appearance in the apocryphal book of Tobit (in fact, his name means “God heals”), but some traditions also consider Michael a healer, and he is the patron of EMTs and ambulance drivers in Catholic tradition.
> 
> SG-1 often shows patients like Bryce Ferguson and Jacob Carter being admitted to the Air Force Academy Hospital. In RL, that hospital closed in 2008. However, with the SGC remaining at Cheyenne Mountain in this AU, there would be enough combat-injury traffic that couldn’t be sent to a civilian hospital that Jack could convince the Pentagon to keep the hospital open. (Thanks to Ansostuff for helping me sort that out.)
> 
> “When I get older, losing my hair” is from “When I’m 64” by the Beatles, and Gabriel’s phrase “ol’ grey cells” is a reference to Hercule Poirot’s calling the brain “the little grey cells.”


	6. So We Sailed Up To the Sun

The peace—and it was genuine peace for all of them, notwithstanding the post-Apocalyptic-trauma and post-symbiote difficulties for the Winchesters and the random angelic visitations and Gabriel’s sense of humor—lasted all of one month.

Sam had been working nights at a bar during that time and was worried that he and Dean were disturbing Ben’s school routine (Dean said “Seriously?” but Lisa was too polite to agree with Sam), so he had saved enough to put a deposit on an apartment if they could find an affordable one that Dean liked. Lisa had to go into Indianapolis for a business appointment one morning in mid-October, and Sam drove her so that he could start looking for apartment furnishings. They took Lisa’s car. When they got to town, however, Sam suddenly felt uneasy and insisted on walking Lisa to the door. Halfway across the parking lot, they were attacked by a minor demon—and Sam killed it with a thought.

“Sam?!” Lisa gasped.

“Can you make it quick?” Sam asked, pointedly not looking at the corpse. “I’ll... I’ll have someone inside call 911.”

Lisa nodded. “Sure.”

She sped through her meeting with the excuse of a family emergency. When she came down, Sam was signing a witness statement and a policeman was addressing him as “Mr. Figgis.” She waited for him by the car.

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a Python fan,” she said as he rejoined her.

Sam smiled wryly. “Jess got me into it at Stanford.”

They went straight home and didn’t talk about much besides Monty Python for the entire forty-five-minute drive.

Dean, predictably, expressed his concern by smacking Sam upside the head and yelling, “Why’d you _kill_ it, ya idjit?!”

“I’ve had a hundred years of practice, jerk,” Sam shot back. “It was a reflex.”

Dean mumbled an apology and let the matter drop, and if he hugged Sam later, no one mentioned it.

* * *

A week later, one of Ben’s classmates flipped out in the middle of class and tried to strangle him. Ben swore up and down that the girl’s eyes had turned black and that she’d backed off only when he choked out the first words of an exorcism. The principal didn’t believe him; Sam and Dean both cursed a blue streak and started discussing what kind of gun to get Ben for Christmas. Lisa withdrew Ben from school, declaring that it might be wiser to have Sam teach him at home for the time being.

Two days after that, a haunted car tried to kill Dean at the garage. Dean dispatched the spirit and quit the job, declaring that “twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action” (and then had to promise to watch _Goldfinger_ with Ben, to Lisa’s chagrin). Sam stayed home from work that night and helped him ward the house so thoroughly that the only supernatural beings that could enter were Gabriel and Cas. The neighbors informed Lisa that if  _that_ was how she was decorating for Halloween, she could forget about anyone coming to trick-or-treat; Dean managed to keep his unprintable response to himself, but he and Sam were both relieved that the civilians would be keeping clear of them for the time being.

“At least the car really was haunted this time,” Dean observed over a beer when they’d finished. “I mean, it wasn’t a Leshii or anything crazy like that. And I didn’t have to go hunting for accelerants once I found the book in the glove compartment.”

Sam snorted in amusement and shook his head. “Only you, Dean. Only you.”

* * *

The last days of October were tense but uneventful, and the four of them—Dean insisted on including Ben—were still debating their options over lunch on November 2 when Gabriel popped in to warn them that he’d just crossed paths with a group of hunters in Green Bay who were getting suspicious of omens popping up around Cicero. “Somebody wants Sam back in Hell,” he stated grimly, “and if the demons can’t get to you, those hunters just might. There’s still some bad blood out there over you muttonheads starting the Apocalypse, even though you did end it. And if _they_ don’t, the Trust will probably try something sooner than later.”

Dean swore. “That’s it. We’re going to Bobby’s.”

Lisa wasn’t pleased, but Dean’s tone and Sam’s face brooked no argument, and she had to admit to herself that she and Ben still wouldn’t be safe if only the Winchesters left. So she nodded her acceptance, and Dean relaxed ever so slightly.

Gabriel raised a hand to teleport them, but Sam stopped him. “We need to be seen leaving town,” he noted. “Otherwise some innocent bystanders could get hurt if someone gets overzealous in searching for information.”

“Good point,” Gabriel agreed. He then snapped his fingers, and the house was empty of movable possessions and stripped of its wards. Only the Winchesters’ duffles and a suitcase each for Lisa and Ben remained near the front door.

“What did you do?!” Lisa demanded.

“Moving van,” Gabriel replied, pointing his thumb over his shoulder and out the kitchen window. Sure enough, a Ryder truck was parked out front. “I’ll take that,” he continued. “You kids tie up your loose ends and meet me in Sioux Falls.”

“Thanks, Gabe,” Dean nodded.

Three hours later, the Wells Fargo bank accounts of James Q. Page and Bob Plant had been closed; Lisa Braeden’s mail was set to be forwarded to a post office box in Larchwood, Iowa; and a black ’67 Chevy Impala with four occupants was spotted leaving Elizaville, Indiana, heading westbound on SR-47 at just over the speed limit. Not a few people in Cicero wondered whether Lisa had really left with her crazy boyfriend—her car was still there, after all—and if she had, why... until her house exploded that same night and the arson investigator from Indianapolis found it impossible to explain the traces of elemental sulfur at the scene.

Bobby was still awake when the Impala pulled into the salvage yard shortly after 2 a.m. Gabriel had picked up Teal’c and Cas somewhere along the way, and the four of them had been discussing strategy. Cas, it turned out, had been getting ominous intelligence from across the globe.

“Near as we can figure,” Bobby informed the Winchesters, “Lucifer was counting on your dad’s escape being a one-time fluke because the Devil’s Gate was open; he never thought Sam could actually make it out. He’s made it plain that he wants Sam back, dead or alive. And if he can get Dean, too, so much the better.”

“I believe Ben and Lisa have also been marked for destruction,” Cas noted sadly.

“It would appear that there is no place of refuge remaining for you on this planet,” Teal’c observed.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look.

“Well, where do you suggest we go?!” Lisa demanded, more shrilly than she meant to.

Teal’c and Cas gave Gabriel identical head-tilted expectant looks.

“Why me?!” Gabriel objected. “It was Teal’c’s idea as much as mine.”

“We are _not_ joining the Tok’ra,” Sam and Dean chorused.

Lisa blinked. “The what?”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “No, not the Tok’ra _or_ the Free Jaffa. We were thinking a little further out than that.”

“Like how far?” Dean pressed.

“How would you like an all-expense-paid trip to the Pegasus Galaxy?”

Sam and Dean exchanged another look. Lisa frowned in confusion.

Ben’s eyes widened. “You want us to move to another _galaxy_?!”

“We could not be certain of your safety otherwise,” Teal’c nodded.

“Atlantis,” Sam said wistfully.

“The Atlantis expedition does have openings for civilians,” Teal’c confirmed. “I have spoken with Gen. O’Neill, and he assures me that Ben and Lisa are welcome to accompany you.”

“Why would they want us?” Dean asked warily, not yet willing to get his hopes up. “I mean, there are other bases in the Milky Way. Why Atlantis?”

“Distance, for one thing,” Bobby replied.

“ _We_ could still pop in for a visit,” Gabriel noted. “But demons don’t have the power to cross the intergalactic void on their own, and it wouldn’t take much to make sure they couldn’t get within a mile of the SGC or any of its ships.”

“Ash has been experimenting,” Cas added dryly.

“Don’t Russia and China have their own _Daedalus_ -class ships?” Sam frowned.

“Yes, but they do not travel to Atlantis,” Teal’c answered. “And should a demon gain control of such a ship, we would still have ample time to warn you of its approach.”

“I’m still not sold, T,” Dean stated. “Why do you think we belong in Atlantis?”

Teal’c tilted his head the other way. “Did no one tell you?”

This time the Winchesters’ chorus was sharper. “Tell us what?”

“Much of the technology in Atlantis requires the operator to possess a genetic key passed down from a race we call the Ancients. It is extremely rare among the Tau’ri.” Teal’c paused. “You both have this gene, and its expression appears to be quite strong in both of you. The ease with which you used the modified life-signs detector is evidence of this, as it cannot be used without the gene.”

“I believe it’s also one reason you were chosen as vessels,” Cas noted. “It was present in both the Winchester and the Campbell bloodlines.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other yet again.

“I’d call that a good reason,” Sam said mildly.

“Yeah,” Dean nodded.

Lisa still looked rather shell-shocked, as did Ben, so Bobby said gently, “Why don’t we sleep on it? The _Apollo_ doesn’t leave for another two days.”

Lisa agreed, and the adults made quick work of setting out bedrolls for the Cicero contingent. Cas stationed himself outside by the front door to keep watch, and Gabriel took Teal’c back to the SGC.

But Dean couldn’t sleep. By rights, he should have been exhausted after driving for eleven hours straight, since he’d been out of hunting for nigh on six months, but somehow the prospect of going to Atlantis for real had left him wide awake. And from the amount of shifting Sam was doing, it sounded like he wasn’t alone.

So gingerly, slowly, so as not to wake Lisa, Dean sat up. The movement caught Sam’s eye, prompting him to sit up as well, and after a series of nods and gestures, the brothers silently got up, put on jackets and jeans and boots, and went outside to lie on the hood of the Impala. Cas, to his credit, said nothing as they passed him.

The night was clear and cold, the stars bright, the waning moon already set. Sam pulled three blankets out of the trunk and tossed two to Dean, who spread them on the already frosted hood and windshield. Then they lay down, and Sam spread the other blanket over them both. Together they stared at the stars, as they had done so many times before. But somehow, Dean knew, they both sought out Pegasus, even though they’d worked out back in April that the galaxy wasn’t visible to the naked eye. Sam finally pointed out the constellation, sliding off the horizon to the northwest.

They sighed in unison.

“If it was just us?” Dean said, still glad to be able to start conversations in the middle again. “I dunno, maybe I’d say flip a coin. We’ve lived on the run this long; we’ve got way too much experience fighting Heaven and Hell at the same time. We’d make it for a while. But we ain’t as young as we used to be.”

Sam snorted. “Dean, you are the king of understatement.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sam turned his head to meet Dean’s eyes. “I’m tired of it, Dean. You are, too.”

“Yeah.” Dean sighed again. “And it _ain’t_ just us. That one demon came after Ben _before_ anything came after me. But I’m not draggin’ them all over the country like Dad did us. If there’s really something we can do in Atlantis?”

“You don’t have to sell me,” Sam shrugged. “Guess the real question is, what if Lisa says no?”

Dean looked out at Pegasus again. “I love her,” he confessed quietly. “And I love Ben. But if she can’t see that this is the safest option... I’m afraid they’re both gonna wind up dead, maybe get us killed again. And unless Ash has found Mom and Dad and knows how to let us all be together for real, I’m not in a hurry to die.”

“Would you force her to come with us?”

Dean ran a hand over his face. “Much as I’d like to? No. She’d never forgive me.”

“And she’d forgive you for letting her die?”

“Ash did,” Dean returned weakly.

Sam chuckled and looked at Pegasus himself. They were silent for a moment until Sam observed, “You know if we go through with this, we’re going to have to fly.”

“The _Hammond_ wasn’t so bad.” This time Dean’s retort was stronger.

“Only because you didn’t know it was a _space_ ship until after we met the Tok’ra.”

“So maybe Dishon helped.”

Sam snorted in amusement, and they fell silent again for several minutes until:

“Three weeks in hyperspace.”

“ _Atlantis_ , Sammy.”

“Is _that_ what you’re worried about?” Gabriel interrupted, suddenly leaning casually against the front passenger door as if he’d been there the entire time. “Travel time? Please.”

“ _I_ wasn’t worried about it,” Dean replied stubbornly.

But Sam was regarding the Trickster through narrowed eyes. “You’re not gonna chuck us through a wormhole without a Stargate, are you?”

Gabriel scoffed. “Even Michael doesn’t have enough power for that. Cas and I together might if we did it from the edge of the galaxy, but he’d never go for it. No, Vala had a few ideas of places where we could find the power to get you to Atlantis from the SGC.”

Dean blinked. “Thought there weren’t any Zero Point Modules to be had in the Milky Way.”

“Not working ones. Depleted ones are cheap.” Gabriel smirked. “You just have to know how to fix them.”

Sam snorted. “Don’t tell McKay.”

“Vala promised.”

Dean didn’t need a mirror to know that he and Sam were wearing identical skeptical expressions.

“I threatened to find her dad.”

They blinked.

“That’s assuming he survived the last time he tried to con the Lucian Alliance.”

Dean burst out laughing in spite of himself. “That explains _so much_.”

Sam turned to Dean. “Is that it, then? We’re doing this?”

Dean grinned at him. “Yeah. Let’s go hunt some Wraith, little brother.”

Sam replied with a brighter grin than Dean had seen on his face in... well, decades now, technically. “Sounds good.”

* * *

At the breakfast table the next morning, Lisa sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know, Dean. I feel like there’s too much I don’t know for me to be able to make an informed decision. Moving to another galaxy... it just sounds so far-fetched, you know?”

“More far-fetched than a demon attacking Ben at school?” Dean retorted.

“You know what I mean.”

Gabriel produced a non-disclosure form. “Sign one of these, and we’ll tell you everything. I think Dean wants to tell you anyway, but the government’s going to insist on one whether you go to Atlantis or not.”

Lisa looked at Dean, who nodded, and accepted the form. She then signed a second one preemptively for Ben, and Gabriel snapped them off to Landry’s desk.

And Sam and Dean told her everything.

It took her most of the morning to get over the revelation about Dishon. Ben, for his part, thought the whole thing was way cool and pleaded with his mother to agree to the move.

“But honey,” Lisa objected, “we don’t even know if there are other children in Atlantis.”

“There are,” Gabriel stated. “Ben would be one of the oldest children in the city itself, but there’s a whole _planet_ of kids who could probably benefit from having a young friend from Earth who’s actually willing to play with them. Seriously, the oldest person on M7G-677 is Dean’s age.”

“You think they’d let Ben play with aliens?”

“Teal’c’s an alien,” Sam observed.

Lisa wavered, and when Ben began begging again, Dean told him to cool it. “We gotta let her think about it, dude. It’s a long way from Indiana. And Mom, she ain’t a sci-fi fan.”

The smile she gave Dean told him she was almost won over.

But by suppertime, after driving one of Bobby’s cars aimlessly through downtown Sioux Falls for several hours, she had talked herself out of it. Her main objection, when Dean pressed her about it, was being the only random civilian family on a military base where all of the other civilians had PhDs or weren’t from Earth. “What am I supposed to do all day? What is _Ben_ supposed to do? What kind of social life would there be for us? I just....”

“It’s okay, Lisa,” Dean interrupted, catching her hand. “I get it. I do.” He sighed. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed. But I never wanted to drag you into the weirdness that is Winchester-normal. You and Ben deserve a normal-normal life.”

Lisa looked down at their joined hands and shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dean. I... I like Sioux Falls. I think we’ll stay here. If... you could....”

“I have to go. I’m sorry. I just... maybe it’s the Ancient gene, but I _need_ to go to Atlantis.” He sighed again and rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. “If you want to stay on Earth, though, Sioux Falls is probably the best place you can choose. Bobby’ll keep an eye on you, and the sheriff’s pretty awesome once you get to know her a little. And Cas can ask Ash to whip up some extra-strength wards to keep the demons at bay.”

“Is this where you’ll come when you’re on leave?”

Dean shrugged. “Bobby’s the only other family we have. And he’ll have my car.”

“You’d better come see Ben and me when you’re in town, then.”

They smiled at each other for a moment—small, sad smiles that acknowledged that while their relationship wasn’t over, their current time together was—until Dean cleared his throat. “ _Ben and Me_ —wasn’t that a cartoon?”

Lisa laughed, and he kissed her forehead and gave her a hug.

“I’m sorry things turned out this way, Lisa. I thought....”

“I did, too, Dean. But you will stay in touch?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

“Okay.”

And they went to break the news to everyone else.

This time it was Sam who was most eager to be gone, and he had already repacked both his and Dean’s bags. Dean asked Bobby and Lisa if they wanted to see them off at the Gate, but Lisa wasn’t sure she could handle it, and Bobby didn’t want to leave Lisa alone until he was sure she was settled and safe. So after supper they said their farewells and gave strict instructions to Bobby with regard to the Impala, and Gabriel took the brothers to the SGC while Cas made a quick side trip to Scotland for the single-malt Dean had promised himself he owed Beckett.

There were tests. There were interviews. There were uniform fittings. By the end of the day on Thursday, Dean was almost bored enough to give up on the idea. But Daniel and Teal’c were able to tell enough stories about Atlantis during their meals to keep his interest from lagging completely. Gabriel presenting Landry with a huge, funky-looking orange crystal that Vala claimed was a ZPM helped, too.

Then Landry decided they could leave the next day since they didn’t have to wait for a ship, and Dean very nearly cried for joy. In fact, one of the main reasons he didn’t was that Sam looked ready to cry, too, and Winchesters Did Not Cry (at least not in public). So Dean cracked an inappropriate joke, and Sam rolled his eyes and huffed, and everyone understood.

As it was, Lisa did enough crying for all three of them when Dean called that night to say one final farewell. But she said she’d found a blog called SpouseBUZZ that was kind of an online support forum for spouses of deployed military personnel, so she thought she’d be okay staying behind. Dean promised to write when he could, and so did Lisa.

And Sam pointedly did not look at Dean for a good five minutes after the call while Dean pretended not to shed a few tears of his own. Long experience had taught Sam that that was usually all the time Dean needed to pull himself together after that kind of conversation, and this one was no exception.

“ _Atlantis_ , Sammy,” Dean whispered from the top bunk, still in awe of the prospect, as they lay in their shared quarters later that night trying to fall asleep.

“Atlantis,” Sam whispered back, not hiding the longing in his voice. “D’you think... I mean....”

“Hey. It’s gonna be awesome. Just wait and see.”

“It’s just... I keep waiting for the catch. Like it can’t really be this easy for something this good to happen to a Winchester.”

Dean sighed. “I know what you mean. But this was Teal’c’s idea, too, not just Cas and Gabe. And Landry said Sheppard has some research project lined up for you and Zelenka wants me doing some engineering thing. Apparently they don’t have enough nerds with the ATA gene, and McKay’s too busy to help.”

Sam smiled. “You’ll make an awesome engineer, Dean.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Dean had to swallow hard a couple of times before he could speak. “Thanks, Sammy.” He paused, then added, “I’m glad you’re comin’ with me.”

Sam’s reply was barely audible: “Yeah. Me, too.”

* * *

The next morning felt like a cross between the first day of a new hunt and the first day of school, the latter feeling due mostly to the fact that for the first time in a _very_ long time, both brothers were wearing completely new outfits. Dean was practically giddy with excitement even before he’d had his coffee. Sam, on the other hand, was still having trouble letting himself believe that it was real, that he wouldn’t step into the wormhole and find himself back in Broward County with the alarm radio blaring “Heat of the Moment”—or worse, back in the cage with Michael and Lucifer.

“C’mon, Sammy,” Dean said as they headed to the mess hall. “Would we be having breakfast with SG-1 if it _weren’t_ real? I mean, Gabriel’s pulled some elaborate pranks, but not even he could invent these guys.”

And indeed, all six members of SG-1 were there to see them off. Carter was back on Earth for a science conference and had flown in with O’Neill, and Mitchell and Vala had both returned a few days early from their regularly-scheduled leave. They spent most of breakfast telling funny stories and giving Sam and Dean hints on how to handle McKay.

Almost before they knew it, their departure time had arrived, and after a round of handshakes and hugs and well-wishes, Sam and Dean watched as eight of the Gate’s nine chevrons lighted and locked and the _kawhoosh_ of the connecting wormhole erupted into the Gateroom and settled back into the backlit pool of the event horizon. They shared a look, took a deep breath, and strode together up the ramp and into the Gate.

And a split second later (or so it seemed), they were walking into a copper-and-turquoise Frank Lloyd Wright-ish masterpiece that took their breath away.

The leaders of Atlantis met the brothers at the Gate, Sheppard and McKay with a handshake, Ronon with a forearm grip that seemed to be the standard warrior handshake on non-Earth planets, Teyla with a forehead-touch greeting that was somewhat awkward for Sam because of his height, and Woolsey with a starstruck grin and a “Welcome to Atlantis” speech. But Dean barely heard him. There was... something... in the back of his mind... not supernatural... not Wraith... couldn’t be Dishon... what....

_Carry on, my wayward son,  
There’ll be peace when you are done..._

He and Sam exchanged a look—Sam heard it, too. Straight from _Leftoverture_.

Sheppard was grinning. “She likes you guys.”

“She?” the brothers chorused.

“Atlantis. The city... well, it’s not exactly sentient, but close enough.”

Sam and Dean looked at each other again and exchanged grins. Maybe—just maybe—the Winchesters had finally found a home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was well into this chapter before I read PaBurke’s excellent “Learning How to Fly” crossover—it’s a very different AU, but the reason for Dean (at least) going to Atlantis is similar. Great minds!
> 
> The title of this chapter, if you didn’t recognize it, is from “Yellow Submarine”; and of course, Lantea welcomes them with “Carry On, Wayward Son” by Kansas.


	7. Epilogue: Back in Black

Even after two months of working together, Elson wasn’t quite sure what to make of the scholar from Atlantis whom Col. Sheppard had sent to assist with the Coalition’s effort to catalogue the laws of various member worlds and codify those that were common to all, a move suggested by Dimas of Riva in an attempt to strengthen the Coalition into a real confederation of the sort that had existed before the Great Holocaust. The man was tall, built like the Satedan on Col. Sheppard’s team, but his brown hair was longer than usual for a Lantean, and though he was gracious and willing to listen and had charmed quite a few reluctant elders into cooperating, there was something in his green eyes and in the way he moved that suggested that he was far older and far more dangerous than he appeared. He didn’t have a title, either, unlike most of the Lanteans he’d met.

Elson liked Sam Winchester. He just didn’t understand him.

They’d been working for several hours in the library on Karkaa that afternoon when Master Winchester stretched until his spine popped, rubbed his eyes, and glanced at the chronograph on his wrist. “I think I need to take a break, get something to eat,” he sighed.

Elson put his quill back in its stand. “There’s an excellent pub not far from here. May I join you?”

Master Winchester looked somewhat surprised, but he smiled as if glad of the company. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

They chatted about inconsequential matters on the way to the pub and through most of the meal, but though Elson had previously been able to learn that Master Winchester was new to Atlantis and had prepared to study law on his own world (wherever that was), the younger man deftly avoided most of Elson’s attempts to learn more personal details about him. Instead, he pressed for more details about life around the galaxy, how the Coalition was faring against the Wraith, the kinds of plant and animal life, whether any other non-human sentient life forms existed, and so on.

Midway through the meal, the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of two more Lanteans, a man and a woman, whom Master Winchester introduced as his brother Dean and Sgt. Mehra. Elson found Master Dean doubly odd—he had never heard of Lanteans working with their siblings before, never mind the fact that neither brother had a title. The Winchesters didn’t look alike at first glance, but Elson thought he could see some family resemblances in the color of their eyes and the shape of their mouths and chins, as well as some of the intangibles that had intrigued Elson about Master Sam. And the longer they talked to each other, the more obvious their brotherhood became, especially when they talked in half-sentences about certain friends of theirs, Gabe and Cas, who had just arrived in Atlantis on what sounded like military business.

Elson found himself missing his own brother, gone these fifty cycles at the hands of the Wraith.

Unfortunately, that point in the conversation was about the time Master Sam went still and looked around warily, like one who had the Gift, and Master Dean handed Elson a handgun and ordered him and Sgt. Mehra to cover one window of the pub while the Winchesters took the other and everyone else in the pub stayed on the floor. No sooner had they done so than seven Wraith strolled into the village and made a demand: hand over a group of newcomers from a village called Croya and no one would get hurt.

“Hoffan plague,” Sgt. Mehra whispered, and Elson’s heart sank to hear his suspicion confirmed. The incident that had driven Elson and his people off their home planet two cycles earlier had begun exactly the same way.

But before this village’s leader could say yes or no, the Wraith leader’s head suddenly snapped to the side with a sickening crunch as if struck by an invisible force, and it fell dead. Startled, Elson looked over at the Winchesters and saw Master Sam glaring out the window. Master Dean patted Master Sam’s shoulder once, and they seemed to have a silent conversation for a moment before Master Sam shouldered his repeating rifle and Master Dean motioned for Elson and Sgt. Mehra to meet them at the double door. Between them, Elson knew, they could easily block the entry.

“Too many civilians,” Sgt. Mehra murmured.

“Aim for the head,” Master Dean replied.

Master Sam’s eyes narrowed dangerously, and the warrior Wraith, who had been looking around in confusion, suddenly turned and started running toward the door of the pub. Elson and the Lanteans mowed them down in no time flat—and the bodies suddenly burst into flame and were consumed in a matter of seconds.

As the smoke cleared, Master Dean punched Master Sam on the shoulder. “Nice going there, Ace,” he said sarcastically.

“ _Habit_ , Dean,” Master Sam sighed. “Or would you rather leave these people to solve a dilemma like that on their own? You escape between the horns or you don’t escape at all.”

Master Dean blinked. “Escape between the horns?”

“Intro to Logic, Intro to Rhetoric—I don’t remember now.” Master Sam sounded weary, as if he were speaking of something that happened a lifetime ago... yet he could not be so much as thirty cycles old. “Disprove the disjunctive premise, and the syllogism fails. The point is, these people needed another option.”

Master Dean shook his head. “Dude, I have _got_ to teach you how to speak English again.”

“You couldn’t teach a dog to do that; you can only train elephants!” said an unfamiliar male voice from beyond the brothers, and Elson turned to see another Lantean leaning casually against the wall beside Master Sam. He had no idea where the shorter brown-haired man had come from or how he had gotten into the pub, since they were still blocking the only door. Sgt. Mehra looked as startled as Elson felt.

Master Dean frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense.”

“Hey, Gabriel,” Master Sam nodded. “Where’s Cas?”

“Watching the Gate,” replied the newcomer—Gabriel? Was this the ‘Gabe’ Master Dean had mentioned? “We need to get these people out of here; the hive ship’s about five hours out, and the queen’s not gonna be pleased to find herself down thirty henchmen. And if you think Kali had a temper....”

Both brothers shuddered.

Sgt. Mehra looked even more startled than she had before. “The two of you took out twenty-three Wraith by yourselves? You’re not even armed.”

The fact hadn’t registered for Elson until she mentioned it, but it was true. Gabriel wasn’t carrying a gun—or wearing one of the Lanteans’ special waistcoats, for that matter, and if he had a knife, it was well concealed. Nor did he bear himself like a warrior; if Elson had had to guess, he would have said Gabriel was a doctor like Beckett or McKay.

Gabriel snorted. “Please. _Castiel_ took out twenty-three Wraith. Compared to what just happened in Soofalls, this was a cake walk.”

The Winchesters frowned at exactly the same time and asked, “What just happened in Soofalls?”

“Nobody got hurt,” Gabriel assured them soberly, then added more lightly, “Well, no one human, anyway. But you won’t be hearing from Meg again.”

“Dammit, Gabriel...” snarled Master Dean.

“They’re _fine_ , Dean. We’ll tell you the rest later. Right now we’ve got five hundred people to get off this planet.”

And Elson jumped because suddenly there was _another_ Lantean standing beside Gabriel, this one with black hair and piercing blue eyes but likewise unarmed and too thin to be a warrior. “The Wraith hive has dropped out of hyperspace and is attempting to contact its messengers,” he said without preamble. “We must empty this village before the ship arrives. I don’t think they’ll waste time talking. Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, Cas,” Master Sam grinned. “Uniform looks good on you.”

‘Cas’—Castiel? _That_ Castiel??—looked down at his clothes as if they puzzled him, then looked back at Master Sam and shrugged. “It serves its purpose,” he said vaguely.

Master Dean snickered.

Master Sam cleared his throat to stop himself from laughing and turned to Elson and Sgt. Mehra. “Uh, Dusty, Elson, you wanna... talk to the village council? Dean and I’ll go back to the library and pack.”

Master Dean pulled a face, but Sgt. Mehra looked grateful to be on familiar ground again. “Sure. You know these people, Elson?”

Assuming she meant the village leaders, Elson nodded. “Yes, we’ve traded here many times. I’ll make the necessary introductions.”

“You and Gabe pack,” Elson heard Master Dean say as he and Sgt. Mehra left the pub. “Cas and I’ll watch the Gate in case they send Darts, call Atlantis, let ’em know what’s going on.”

Master Sam laughed. “Okay.”

There was a sound like someone snapping his fingers. Elson glanced over his shoulder, but all four men had vanished.

“That was freaky,” Sgt. Mehra muttered.

Before Elson could form any kind of response, they were surrounded by wide-eyed villagers. “Elson!” cried Vajezatha, one of the councilors. “What just happened? What manner of men are these?”

Elson shrugged helplessly. “They are Lanteans. Master Winchester has the Gift, it seems. I don’t know any more than that.”

“Are they Ancestors?” someone called from the crowd.

“No,” said Sgt. Mehra quickly, but Elson wondered if she was as unsure as he was about Gabriel and Castiel.

“Are they sorcerers?” asked another voice.

Here Elson was on firmer footing. “Atlantis has a great deal of advanced Ancestor technology that even the Genii do not understand. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

“Exactly,” Sgt. Mehra agreed, though he could tell that she was bluffing on that point. “Look, we just got word from Atlantis that they’re tracking a hive ship headed for this planet. It’ll be here by nightfall. Once the Wraith find out what happened, they’ll level this village, deal or no deal. But if you come with us, we can move you to another planet where you’ll be safe.”

“This is exactly what happened to my people,” Elson added. “Betraying the Croyans will not save you, nor will handing over the Lanteans. Your only hope is to come with us through the Ancestors’ Ring now.”

The villagers exchanged silent, terrified glances until Master Sam walked out of the library. “Hey, um... do y’all want us to pack up the library along with our stuff?”

No one answered for a moment, but then Vajezatha took a deep breath and let it out again. “Yes, please do.”

Master Sam nodded and went back. The other villagers stared at Vajezatha, still too stunned to think straight but not certain his choice was wise.

“Listen,” Vajezatha replied, “I have known Elson for thirty cycles at least. He trades fairly, and he has yet to mislead me on matters of great import.”

Elson knew the qualifier was due to a series of friendly pranks he had pulled on Vajezatha when they were both much younger and had to bite back a smile.

“He trusts the Lanteans. Therefore, I believe we also ought to trust them. And Master Winchester has never been anything but kind and polite to us. I believe he wishes only to help us. What’s more, the Wraith know we are here and can come for us at any time if we remain, even if we give them everything they want _and_ they choose to spare us this time, but on a new world we will all be safe now and may remain so for generations unless other humans betray us.”

“Can you be sure of that?” one of the other councilors pressed. “They found the Croyans here.”

“The Wraith are not gods,” Vajezatha shot back, starting to lose patience. “Their information has to come from somewhere.”

“Oh, believe you me,” said Gabriel from somewhere just behind Elson, “even gods have their limits. But Vajezatha’s right—the Wraith aren’t gods, and they don’t know everything.”

“Don’t _do_ that!” Sgt. Mehra said through her teeth.

Gabriel’s response was to look the painfully false picture of innocence, which told Elson that the stranger had not simply sneaked up on both of them. And that was when Elson also realized that Gabriel had called Vajezatha by name even though, to the best of Elson’s memory, he hadn’t been introduced, and Master Sam had always stumbled over the name so badly that Gabriel couldn’t have gotten it from him.

“Are _you_ a god?” asked a child nearby.

Was that a flinch before Gabriel chuckled? “Nah, not me. But I did play one on TV for a few years.”

That answer meant nothing to anyone present, apparently including Sgt. Mehra, and Elson suspected that Gabriel had said it for precisely that reason. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused.

“What do we need to do?” Vajezatha asked.

“Pack your bags and meet us at the Gate,” Sgt. Mehra replied. “Bring only what you can easily carry. The faster you move, the faster we can get you to Atlantis.”

Gabriel glanced away as if listening to the communicator in his ear—except that he wasn’t wearing one. Then he looked back at her with a smirk, and Elson decided that it was time for discretion to be the better part of valor before Gabriel said or did anything else bizarre. “We will await you at the Ring, my friend,” Elson said to Vajezatha, ignoring the sense he got that Gabriel had rolled his eyes.

Vajezatha nodded and grasped Elson’s hand. “Thank you, Elson.”

There was a pause while Elson, Sgt. Mehra, and Gabriel walked away from the pub, and then Elson heard the murmuring crowd disperse.

“You think they’ll come?” Sgt. Mehra asked.

“Vajezatha will,” Elson shrugged. “I believe the others will have sense enough to follow. But then, I never dreamed that Jervis would betray the Balarans.”

Gabriel chuckled wryly. “Free will. Gotta love it.”

Sgt. Mehra glared at him. “You’re annoying.”

“So I’m told,” Gabriel replied cheerfully.

When they arrived back at the Ring, Castiel and Master Dean were quietly discussing something they were looking at on a tablet computer. Master Sam was nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Winchester 2?” Sgt. Mehra called to the other men.

“Took the library stuff back to Atlantis,” Master Dean replied. “Think he’s gonna get Teldy and Lorne to come help with the evacuation. In fact, he should be dialing back....” He checked his chronograph. “Right about... now.”

Sure enough, the Ring activated and Master Sam came through it, accompanied by Maj. Lorne, Maj. Teldy, and five or six military men Elson had seen during the various times he’d stayed in Atlantis overnight. Upon getting an update from Sgt. Mehra and Master Dean, Maj. Lorne began ordering the military men into positions at the edges of the clearing around the Ring while the Winchesters and their friends withdrew to one side to continue their hushed discussion and Sgt. Mehra pulled Maj. Teldy to another side. Elson was left standing alone near the dialing device, feeling awkward—but he didn’t miss the troubled looks the two women kept shooting at the Winchesters.

The other thing he thought was odd was that Master Dean was the only one who ever touched the tablet. Master Sam even visibly restrained himself from taking it once. But Elson had seen Master Sam use a tablet many times. Yet, on further reflection, he realized that Master Sam’s chronograph was fully mechanical, not like the ones most Lanteans wore. He knew his grasp on Lantean technology was minimal, but it did seem as though something connected with Master Sam’s gifts—not simply _the_ Gift, but whatever it was he had done to those Wraith—caused some side effect that made Master Sam temporarily unable to use anything more complex than the mechanical tools Elson was used to.

It was useless to speculate. Elson was completely out of his depth. All he knew for certain was that however it might appear, what Master Sam and Gabriel and Castiel did was not sorcery. It had been too effortless for that.

Elson’s musings were cut off by Master Dean summoning him and the Lantean officers to confer. “Okay, here’s the idea,” Master Dean said when they were all gathered. “You guys work on getting these people out of here. Elson, we want you to go back to Atlantis with the first wave. We’ll stand guard on this side of the Gate. Everyone but the four of us needs to be in Atlantis before the show starts. When the hive arrives, Gabriel will deal with the ground troops while Cas takes Sam and me up to deliver some things that go boom. We’ll rendezvous back here and dial Atlantis.”

“We don’t have a Jumper,” Maj. Teldy said warily.

Gabriel scoffed. “Jumpers are slow. And besides, Dean hates to fly.”

Master Dean glared at him. Master Sam coughed.

“You know, we don’t _have_ to do anything about the hive,” said Maj. Lorne. “Chances are that we’ll get another shot.”

Master Dean huffed. “Due respect, Major, but we’re not gonna gamble with anyone’s lives but our own. We can’t wait around for another shot when there’s people on other planets about to get eaten or just be killed because they’re poison. This will be one less hive Atlantis has to worry about, one less hive that the _Coalition_ has to worry about.”

“We’ve tackled harder missions with less backup,” Master Sam noted so quietly and dispassionately that Elson felt a sudden chill. Gone was the affable scholar; in his place stood a hardened warrior. And for that matter, the same was true of Master Dean, who spoke to Maj. Lorne almost like a superior.

Part of Elson ached to know what these men had seen, had lived through, to make them so deadly in the face of danger. Part of him feared what the answer might be.

So instead, he simply said mildly, “I will be happy to return to Atlantis when the first group departs.”

Maj. Teldy gave Maj. Lorne a questioning look, and Maj. Lorne nodded reluctantly. “Okay. This isn’t anywhere close to standard operating procedure, but we’ll go with it.”

There were nods of acknowledgment from both Winchesters, and there the discussion ended.

Vajezatha and about fifty others, mostly Croyans and members of Vajezatha’s extended family, arrived within the hour and were promptly sent to Atlantis. As he walked toward the Ring with them, Elson could hear Maj. Lorne reporting to Col. Sheppard, which was a relief. He wasn’t sure he understood what was happening well enough to explain it to anyone else. Instead, his only responsibility was to introduce Vajezatha to Col. Sheppard and Teyla Emmagan, as well as Teyla’s two-year-old son Torren, who was running around the room chattering happily with everyone. Teyla and Torren led most of the refugees to the mess hall, where there was room enough for everyone to sit down, but Elson and Vajezatha remained in the Ring room with Col. Sheppard, discussing options for relocation. Dr. McKay, it seemed, was already searching Atlantis’ great store of information for a suitable planet.

It wasn’t until Vajezatha mentioned the intricate pattern on the floor beneath the Ring that Elson noticed that it had changed since his people first came to Atlantis. Before, it had been a simple circle with lines drawn out of its center; it was still a circle, but there were letters and symbols inside it now, as well as... well, he’d have to see it from above to be sure, but it looked like a huge seven-pointed star.

“It’s called the Key of Solomon,” Col. Sheppard explained. “It’s a trap for a certain species of bad guy on our home planet. There was an incident last year where we thought they might try to invade Atlantis, so... that was the Winchesters’ suggestion. The problem was resolved, but Mr. Woolsey though we should leave it—better safe than sorry, y’know.”

The next group of Karkaans arrived then, saving Elson from having to ask what kind of creature could be trapped by simple lines on the floor. After that, they had their hands full keeping a relatively steady stream of refugees moving out of the Ring room and to the mess hall, and the pauses in between were filled with more practical conversations.

Finally, Maj. Teldy, Maj. Lorne, and their teams returned with the stragglers. “That’s it,” Maj. Lorne announced. “We actually managed to convince all five hundred of ’em to leave. Winchester said they’ll dial in as soon as they’ve taken out the hive.”

Col. Sheppard didn’t look pleased, but he nodded. “Thanks, Lorne. Teldy.”

The military people took that as their dismissal and left.

Col. Sheppard turned to Vajezatha next. “You’re welcome to go join your people. We’re still working on getting your quarters assigned, but you don’t have to hang around here.”

“I would prefer to stay, if I may,” Vajezatha replied. “I wish to know that Master Winchester is well.”

“As do I,” Elson agreed.

Col. Sheppard nodded and showed them upstairs to a meeting room where Elson had met with the Lantean leaders a few times before. There they could have some refreshment and sit down, but they were still close enough to the Ring room to hear the Ring begin to activate. When at last it did, all three men ran to the control room and paused long enough to hear “Winchester’s IDC” before racing down to meet the Winchesters and their friends.

And the four of them ambled through the Ring as if they had been on a pleasant stroll through the countryside.

Master Dean was laughing. “That was fun.”

Master Sam shook his head, but he was chuckling as well.

“You have a strange definition of fun, Dean,” Castiel replied with a straight face, which made the Winchesters laugh harder.

“What happened?” Col. Sheppard demanded as the Ring shut down.

“Gabriel has been setting a bad example for the Pegasus garrison,” Castiel reported, but his eyes were dancing with amusement and affection, which took the sting out of the accusation.

Gabriel smirked. “Turns out, Wraith don’t appreciate it when you turn their illusions back on them.”

“They also don’t appreciate being suckered into feeding on an immortal,” Master Dean added.

“Hey, how was I to know they were allergic to angel blood? I betcha even Todd didn’t know that.”

Col. Sheppard was clearly trying not to laugh, but he couldn’t suppress a snort.

“Long story short,” said Master Sam, “sighted hive, sank same.”

“Good work,” Col. Sheppard nodded.

“Couldn’ta done it without backup,” Master Dean drawled, slapping Castiel on the shoulder.

Elson was completely bewildered. Gabriel and Castiel were still unarmed, and the Winchesters had no more weapons on them than they’d had when they arrived on Karkaa—probably fewer, if they’d used their C4 on the hive. Who _were_ these people?!

“You should be more careful, though,” Col. Sheppard cautioned. “You guys get busted for witchcraft, I’m not bailin’ you out.”

“Yes, sir,” the Winchesters chorused.

“Woolsey’s gonna want a debrief. Better head on up there.”

Master Dean saluted sloppily, and the Winchesters and their odd friends headed up the staircase, Master Dean singing as they went:

 _Back in black,  
I hit the sack,  
I’ve been too long, I’m glad to be back_....

Col. Sheppard shook his head and turned to Elson. “Come help me get these people settled. We’ll see what McKay’s come up with tomorrow.”

“Very well,” Elson nodded and motioned to Vajezatha to follow.

* * *

It wasn’t until much later that evening, when Elson found himself in need of something more than water to drink, that he encountered the Winchesters and their friends again. They were at a table near the door to the mess hall, and Elson paused out of sight when he heard their voices conversing quietly. He didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but he didn’t want to interrupt, and he _was_ very curious about them.

“Lisa’s okay, though, right?” Master Dean was asking. He sounded worried.

“Yes,” replied Castiel. “She was shaken, but she and Ben were unharmed. I believe she is beginning to reconsider her decision to remain.”

Master Dean sighed. “I just want them to be safe, Cas.”

“Lisa can look after herself, Dean,” said Master Sam.

“Yeah, but she shouldn’t have to. They’re in danger because of me.” Master Dean paused. “T-tell her I want them to come. Please. ’Cause I do miss them. A lot. And I think she and Teyla would be great friends. Maybe Jennifer and I can talk Woolsey into letting Lisa add yoga to the PT schedule.”

“I will talk to her again when we return,” Castiel promised. “Perhaps hearing our view of Atlantis will make the difference.”

“Thanks, Cas. Just—don’t mention what happened today.”

“Why not?” That was Gabriel. “She knows you’re a hunter. And you’ve taken on worse things than Wraith.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we would have tried to take on that hive without you guys. And as much fun as that was, it’s not what we do every day, and I’m... kind of enjoying bein’ on the Geek Squad.”

“Zelenka’s just glad to have someone else to send to 677,” said Master Sam, and Master Dean chuckled. “Seriously, dude, Teldy says you are _awesome_ with those kids. And you still get the maintenance done in, like, record time.”

“They’re good kids. And I’m pretty sure things have settled down now that there are actual _adults_ around, compared to what it was like when they first made contact. It’s weird though, sometimes, kind of like living in _Logan’s Run_. Keras is always asking questions about Bobby, what it’s like to actually be old.”

“Bobby’s not old.”

“I know _that_. But Keras has never met anyone older than McKay.”

“Maybe they need to start trading more.” Master Sam raised his voice then as he asked, “What do you think, Elson?”

“Dude, you seein’ through _walls_ now?” Master Dean asked as Elson sheepishly entered the mess hall.

Master Sam chuckled. “Nah. Lantea told me.”

“I think I’m jealous.” But Elson could see a sparkle in Master Dean’s eye that meant he was joking. “Hey, Elson. Come sit down.” Master Dean patted a chair that stood between his seat and Castiel’s.

Gabriel snapped his fingers as Elson approached the table, and a steaming mug of some fragrant dark liquid appeared on the table in front of the seat Master Dean had offered him. The others each had a similar one.

“Thank you,” said Elson and sat down and took a sip. The drink was hot and stout and bitter and sweet all at once, and Elson vaguely remembered having had it once before when his people had evacuated to Atlantis— _coffee_ , Dr. McKay had called it. It was bracing, too, and seemed exactly the sort of thing one should be drinking during the kind of conversation he’d walked in on. If one wasn’t drinking ale, that is.

“I didn’t mean to listen,” he added once he’d swallowed another mouthful. “I do apologize.”

Master Dean smiled and waved it off. “Nah, that’s cool. Sammy says you’re a good guy, and after what I saw today, I have to agree with him.”

Castiel tilted his head and studied Elson for a long moment, and Elson suddenly got the sense that Castiel and Gabriel were not only very old and very powerful, but also... well, there weren’t many tongues in Pegasus that had a word for it, but it was the sense he got when visiting sites that were truly sacred. He found himself unable to look Castiel in the eye for very long. The events of the afternoon had brought back too many memories of his own people’s experience, and his part in the deaths of Jervis and his men was too near the surface.

“We have all done things we regret, Elson,” Castiel finally said, and when Elson looked at him again, he thought he caught the barest hint of compassion in those unblinking eyes. “The fact that some of them were necessary, perhaps even just, does not change our sorrow over them.”

Elson glanced at Gabriel, who was studying his coffee, and the Winchesters, who were sporting identical looks of empathy. Confused, he stammered, “What... I mean....”

“Scars,” replied Master Sam, rubbing his wrist as if it ached. “Not the kind that are easy to see, but... well, we probably understand better than most. I mean, I don’t know what _you_ did, but we... I... we almost caused the end of the world. Of _all_ worlds. Thank God, we were able to stop it, but....”

“Let’s just say redemption ain’t cheap,” Master Dean concluded, his voice sounding more hoarse than usual.

Not knowing what to say to that, Elson took another drink of coffee.

Gabriel drew a deep breath and looked at Castiel. “Hey, um... we should....”

“Indeed,” Castiel nodded. “Excuse us, Elson.”

And suddenly they were gone.

Master Sam snorted. “Cas has been hanging out with Teal’c too much.”

Master Dean shook his head. “They were practically twins to begin with. Think Vala’s been a bad influence on Gabe, though.”

“What... um...” Elson wasn’t sure of the most delicate way to phrase his question.

“They’re angels,” the brothers said at the same time.

“They’re not... well, I guess they’re kind of like Ancients,” Master Sam continued, “except that they’ve always existed in spirit form, and they’re a lot more powerful than an ascended being. I think it’s only among the Tau’ri that they show themselves in human form.”

That both explained a lot and made Elson’s head spin. “And yet you call them friend?”

Master Dean let out a wry chuckle. “It’s a _long_ story, Elson.”

“Helps that we share some of the same enemies,” Master Sam added.

“Is that why they’re here?” Elson asked.

“Not directly,” Master Dean replied. “They were just tellin’ us about something that happened to some friends of ours. They’ve got other business here, nothin’ to do with... that.”

“But it’s why _you’re_ here.”

Master Dean flinched a bit but shrugged. “Our friends are safer with us here. They’d be safer still if they joined us.”

“Facing the Wraith does not seem particularly safe.”

“At least you can _shoot_ Wraith,” said Master Sam.

Master Dean sighed. “Our enemies, Elson... they’re way worse than Wraith. And trust me, we’ve talked to Todd; we know how bad the Wraith are. But unless something goes way wrong, we’ve made sure the monsters can’t follow us here.”

Elson wasn’t sure what _monster_ meant, but he didn’t deem it important. “And when it is safe, will you return home?” He didn’t know if he wanted the answer to be yes or no.

The brothers exchanged a look.

“I dunno,” said Master Dean. “I mean, there are things I miss....”

“But Atlantis is awesome,” agreed Master Sam. “We’re getting to like Pegasus, and there are things we get to do here that we couldn’t do back home.”

“And this, today? This is what we do best.”

“Saving people, hunting things...”

“The family business,” they finished together.

And somehow, Elson found that thought oddly comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t imagine that Elson’s planet was the first _or_ the last to receive the kind of ultimatum presented in “Outsiders.” Team Sheppard just happened to be there on that occasion, and Team Winchester just happened to be there on this one.
> 
> “You couldn’t teach a dog to do that...” is a line Davy Jones ad-libbed when he and Micky Dolenz were recording an extremely goofy version of “Gonna Buy Me a Dog” for the Monkees’ first album; he was referring to the fact that Micky’s first starring role was on the TV series _Circus Boy_. (The producers made them do it straight at least once, but the silly version was the one that wound up on the album.)
> 
> “Soofalls” = Sioux Falls, which would not be an intuitive spelling for Elson.
> 
> The bit about “feeding on an immortal” was inspired by Jennytork’s SGA AU story “Queen of Atlantis.” I imagine a Wraith’s experience of feeding on an envesseled angel, if it were even possible, would be some sort of cross between eating too much _lembas_ and ingesting the Hoffan drug. And I can just _hear_ the Gabester cackling madly over the outcome!
> 
> * * *
> 
> Thanks for coming along on this crazy ride! I had no idea when I started “Snakeheads” that it would turn into anything nearly this long, but it’s been a fun universe to play in, especially given the cruel and unusual time jump in SPN Season 6. And while this is the end of the _Tok’ra Apocalypse_ storyline, I may yet return to this ’verse if the right plotbunny bites.
> 
> _And now, till we meet again,  
>  Adios, Au revoir, Auf Wiedersehen—Good night!_


End file.
